


for your short attention span

by dramaturgicallycorrect



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 02:16:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 30,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4942888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramaturgicallycorrect/pseuds/dramaturgicallycorrect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or a collection of meme-prompted tumblr drabbles featuring: an ot5 halloween party, many riffs on X-Factor Lilo, time travel Lirry, Kennedy Space Center Lirry, a coupla canon Narrys, wizard Zarry, WWII Zouis, future canon Nouis, approximately forty-three sickfics, and the like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ot5: halloween party

**Author's Note:**

> hiiii i needed a place to collect all of my longer tumblr drabbles so i didn't keep clogging people's dashboards with long fic. you can take a look at the chapter names for which pairings are which chapters and a coupla words about what to expect!
> 
> they're all found [here](http://wickershire.tumblr.com/tagged/i+wrote), but the ones that aren't posted here are things that i'm thinking about expanding on in the future. :D

Harry doesn’t realize it until he sees them all together. 

It’s not his fault, really, he’s been busy. Off being  _Harry Styles_ and doing  _Harry Styles_  things at his own Halloween party, their tour break luckily landing them all free time to attend it. He wades through the crowd, mentally taking attendance and waving cordially and stopping for pictures. 

He’s dressed as Jack from Titanic (very specifically the scene where he teaches Rose to spit like a man), suspenders and drawing book and all, his hair carefully tucked into a blond wig that’s almost but not  _quite_ the same blond as Leo (he was in a bit of a time crunch). Not that anyone’s noticed. Three people have asked him if he’s a bloody Newsie. 

He briefly caught sight of Niall half an hour ago, dressed in a blue blazer, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and khakis. He waves to him and doesn’t put another thought to his outfit because Corden catches his attention. Corden is dressed like Barf from Spaceballs, so really Niall never stood a chance. 

He saw Louis mixing drinks for Lou (Bride of Frankenstein) and Grimmy (dressed as Taylor Swift dressed as a winged unicorn in the most meta costume Harry’s ever seen) in the kitchen for about half a second, registering he’s got on an oversized white shirt and Harry’s fedora, likely nicked from Harry’s room because he probably “forgot” to wear (stopped fulfilling fancy dress party obligations two years ago) a costume and is probably telling everyone he’s Indiana Jones. The least he could do is find a leather jacket. 

He caught sight of Liam almost as soon as the party started, when he immediately took to the living room to dance with Sophia, dressed as a Victorian lady. Liam had on half a Beetlejuice costume, only missing the white pinstripe jacket, which Harry gets, it’s quite warm with all the people in. 

He had bumped into Zayn as he was leaving the loo and Harry was going in. Harry had remarked that he liked Zayn’s head scarf, and Zayn had laughed at him. A lot. Harry spent his entire wee wondering about that and promptly forgot as soon as he was finished washing his hands. 

But Harry sees them all now, lined up in a row in front of the hors d'oeuvres (comprised of only the best in Halloween pun fare), looking expectantly at him with their feet pigeon toed and their arms resting at their backs. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Harry moans. Because they’ve all dressed as him. 

One of the four have nicked his Chelsea boots, two of the four have their tits out, three of the four look absolutely bloody ridiculous, and four of the four are wearing shit-eating grins. 

“How do we look, Harold?” Louis crows, throwing his arms around Liam and Niall. 

“Zayn looks bloody amazing,” Harry says, because Zayn always looks amazing, sheer floral shirts are an excellent look for him, someone should tell Caroline. 

“Thank you, Harry,” Zayn says, looking pleased. 

“The rest of you look like twats,” he pouts, ignoring the possible implication that Harry daily looks like a twat. 

“Aw, come on, it’s pretty good!” Liam says. “Look, we even got Zayn to do up a few of your tattoos." 

He pulls up his left sleeve to reveal a Sharpie-drawn anchor on his wrist. Zayn’s got a Might as Well on his hip. Louis rolls up his left sleeve to reveal a star on his bicep. Harry looks to Niall expectantly. 

"No fucking way,” Niall says, crossing his arms. “Vintage Harry has no ink." 

"We all decided against the bug on your chest,” Louis says. “None of us could stomach it." 

He pauses for effect. Everyone does nothing. 

"We couldn’t  _stomach_ it,” Louis repeats and the three finally laugh, but they’re short, dutiful, reluctant laughs.

The longer Harry looks at them the more he realizes how much thought they’ve put into it. They’ve tried their best to give Niall a deep part and swoop his hair to the right. Liam’s never worn a shirt so unbuttoned in his life – there’s really only two buttons done up – and he’s poured himself into some truly tight trousers. Zayn’s found a way to finagle his floppy mohawk thing into a curly mass held together by a scarf. Louis didn’t even try at all, but it was probably his idea to begin with, so there’s some credit due there. 

The attention to detail warms his heart a little, and his face goes all soft with it. These are his lads and this is as close as they’re all going to get to doing something nice for him. That’s what they do. Take the piss because they care. 

“Let’s get a selfie before Harry turns on the waterworks,” Niall says, digging out his phone. They squish in carefully, the four Fake Harrys trying to show off as much of their costumes as they can while Real Harry hides behind them, his head floating over the sea of imitations. 

Two people stop to ask Niall if he wants them to take the picture instead and Niall kindly tells them to fuck off. He doesn’t even care that one of those people is David Beckham (very possibly dressed as his wife in a strapless little black dress, Harry hasn’t asked yet). 

Niall posts it on Instagram with the caption, “@harrystyles this is your life hahaaa ! #classic”.  It’s an absurd photo, half of them throwing peace signs, all of them looking wide-eyed and a little dazed, mocking his standard fan selfie pose. 

Later when everyone’s gone and Harry wanders through the mess of plates and cups and empty bottles of booze and uneaten food, Harry saves a screenshot of the photo to his phone and replaces the black and white picture of a rainbow he took the other day (didn’t come out that well, strangely) as his lock screen. Just for a day.

\--


	2. lirry: time travel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "you're the only one i trust to do this"

“You’re the only one I trust to do this,” Harry says, very seriously, his face so tight with concentration he looks like he’s frowning. He’s not frowning, though, he’s made that very clear to Liam over the past three years. That’s just what his Concentration Face looks like.

“Okay,” Liam says, a little stilted because he doesn’t actually know what to say.

“You know what to do if – ”

“Yeah,” Liam cuts him off. He doesn’t want to hear the end of that sentence. He doesn’t want to know what to do  _if_  because there won’t be an if. Because if any person in the entire world is going to successfully invent a time travel machine, it’s Harry fucking Styles.

“Is it on?” Harry asks, pulling on his goggles and stretches them so they snap back firmly against his face. He mumbles a little  _ow_. Harry really does put the mad in mad scientist.

“Yep.” He shifts the camera a little and checks the shot – to make sure Harry’s in it, not to make sure that it looks cool or anything. He actually knows nothing about cameras or filming or anything, and the fact that Harry trusts him the most is, at this point, mildly worrying. Though he suspects the trust isn’t so much about his filmmaking prowess.

“Okay,” Harry says and sighs. “Okay.” He clears his throat a couple of times, making the most hideous noises, before he settles his slow but firm gaze on Liam. Not on the camera, on Liam. “Hello, my name is Harry Styles and, uh, well, about four years ago, I was walking home from the bakery, and I had a chocolate eclair and it was delicious – it was Delilah’s on Primrose if you’re wondering – and I’d had this thought – what’s that face for?”

“What face?” Liam says, schooling his face because there was  _definitely_ a face.

“That face, you’re making a face at me.”

“It’s just my face,” Liam says as innocently as he can manage. “This is what it looks like.”

“Anyway, I invented a time travel machine, the end,” Harry says grumpily.

“Oh come on, Harry.” He makes another face at Harry, but this time it’s a pleading one. “Do the speech.”

Harry squints at him, but then he soldiers on. “It’s May 31, 2015 at 4.13 in the afternoon and I’m about to travel exactly one day into the future, where I will remain for ten minutes, and return to this very spot at precisely 4.23 in the afternoon.”

Harry nods at the camera and then glances down at the device in his hands. It’s a little innocuous looking thing, hardly bigger than an iPad. It seems too simple to contain the entire world. And Harry looks terrified, truly, to be holding the entire world in his hands, and though he’d never say anything, Liam knows he’s freaking out. He’s got a poker face like no one Liam’s ever met before, but he doesn’t seem to realize putting his poker face on is his tell.

“Oh, hang on,” Liam says, faking a frown to the camera, “it looks like it wasn’t recording.”

Then it’s Harry’s turn to make a face. But like that, the tension dissipates.

“I’m kidding,” Liam says with a grin. “We can edit it this out, trust me.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling now, which is what Liam wanted. He straightens up and squares his shoulders, looking directly back at Liam.

“Well,” Harry says. “I hope I don’t fuck this up.”

“That’s what you want your famous last words to be?” Liam says as Harry prepares to press the button.

“I’ll do what I want, Liam,” he says coolly and Liam’s chuckling because those are much better famous last words until Harry presses the button and he goes all wobbly.

There’s no better way to explain it, really, then Harry goes all wobbly. The air around him vibrates, pulls and stretches, and the last thing Liam sees before the blinding flash of light is Harry grinning at him, looking like he already knows he’s going to change the world.

Liam’s instantly left alone in Harry’s carport-turned-laboratory. He didn’t actually think about what to do with himself while he waits the ten minutes for Harry to return.

He’s certain he’s waiting for Harry return. He won’t entertain any other sort of alternatives to the situation. Harry’s out there, living life tomorrow while Liam’s stuck in today. And Liam’s okay with that. Truly. He’s not sick with worry, he’s not running through all of the different terrible scenarios that could happen.

He plays back the video, carefully memorizing everything about Harry as he prepares himself for his journey. He cracks a smile at the little  _ow_  and he likes how Harry gave his speech to Liam instead of the camera. Like Liam is the only one who matters. Liam is the only one he trusts. Then there’s the flash of lightning, a lens flare truly worthy of JJ Abrams, and like that, Harry is gone again. It scares Liam a little more this time.

“Shit,” Liam mumbles, setting the camera aside and burying his face in his hands. If Harry trusted him so much, Liam should have said something to warn him about how dangerous this was. He should have figured out some way to go with him. He should have… done anything, really, than stand there and watch Harry do something.

But he didn’t, because there’s no one else Liam trusts to do this either.

Then there’s another blinding flash of light and Harry stumbles into the lab from nowhere, Liam instinctively moving forward to collect him into his arms. Harry lets loose a startlingly loud cackle as he pants and squeezes his arms around Liam. Liam is too damn thankful Harry is here and solid in his arms.

“I fucking time traveled,” Harry shouts and gives a few more breathless chuckles. He pulls out of Liam’s arms and does a couple of small circles around like he does when he is too excited to know what to do with himself.

Liam checks his watch. It’s 4.17. “It’s only been three minutes. I think. Time travel’s got me a bit confused.”

“I came back early,” Harry says, turning wide and focused eyes back to him.

“Why?”

Harry’s face falls into that same serious concentration, his laser-like focus nearly making the breath in Liam’s chest punch out of him.

“Future’s rubbish without you beside me,” he says. He holds his hand out to Liam, waggling his fingers in an invitation. “You’re the only one I want to come with me.”

Liam looks between his hand and his eyes and revisits about all the reasons they shouldn’t go and all the things that could go wrong, but none of that matters. Harry’s traveled through time and came back early because he wants Liam. Liam laces their fingers together. Harry’s the only one he wants to go with too.

\--


	3. lirry: time travel (part two)

Harry’s been gone for four hours. He usually times his trips so it seems like he’s never gone longer than ten minutes. But this time it’s been four hours and Liam’s never been more scared.

He figured it would come to this. One day Harry’d go and never come back. He figured it would happen every night he spent in the lab, hunched over the device until he ruined his back. Every time Liam would ask him to come home, and Harry would tell him, “I can go further,” like that actually means anything.

Liam doesn’t want him to go further, and there was a time when Harry didn’t want to go further without Liam. But it’s been months since Liam’s joined him on a trip.

The determination to succeed is part of why Liam loves him so much. He’s always wanted Harry to fulfill his dreams, because Harry’s only ever wanted the same for Liam. He never anticipated it would come at a cost. If he wasn’t in the lab planning his experiments, he was thinking about them when they were just trying to have dinner, making furious notes on his phone while they’re out on a date.

He doesn’t need Liam to bounce his thoughts off anymore, even though Liam never really understood them to begin with. He doesn’t need Liam to hold the camera. He doesn’t need Liam.

Liam glances out the window to the carport for the fourth time in the last ten minutes.

They have a carport with no car because they spend all of their spare money on Harry’s research, so Liam takes the bus to lug groceries home even though Harry rarely remembers to eat, to pick something up from the hardware store when Harry won’t get up from his desk, to go back to the hardware store when he’s picked up the wrong part.

It’s another hour before Liam sees the flash in their carport and goes running.

Harry’s dressed in the same time neutral clothes he wears every day and has braced himself against his desk, panting heavily, looking weak in the knees. Liam goes to him, pours over his face and body for wounds like he always does before wrapping him into a hug. Harry looks exhausted, more than he’s ever been before, and Liam’s just so glad to have him home.

“How long were you gone?” Liam asks.

Underneath the dark, stressed circles under his eyes, he looks positively delighted when he says, “Three weeks.”

“Jesus Christ,” Liam swears, and his stomach feels like it’s going to drop out of his body. He pulls away from Harry, covers his face so he can comprehend it without looking at Harry’s face, which he’s sure has dropped the smile. “You can’t do that. Three weeks? Three weeks.”

“It’s only been four hours for you,” Harry says, his voice tinged with confusion. “I had to adjust the return time to decrease the risk of a temporal flux, but it’s only been four hours for you.”

“But it’s three weeks for you,” Liam argues, turning back to him. He doesn’t even have time to think about what a temporal flux is, let alone whether Harry could have died from it. “Three weeks without me. You’re three weeks older. Three weeks different. It’s not like you went on holiday, Harry.”

Harry blinks at him. “I don’t understand the difference.”

“You can’t live a double life and get to come back here like nothing’s changed,” Liam shouts before pressing his lips together to keep him from exploding again.

Harry’s frowning – not his concentration face, just full on frowning, which Liam takes to mean he’s just not getting it. “I’m not leading a double life.”

“Yes, you are. You live a full day there, you live a day here.”

“Liam – ” Harry reaches for him, his hands going to placate, and Liam doesn’t want that. He knows he’s right. He just wants Harry to admit he’s wrong.

“Don’t lie to me, I learned how to read the logs.”

Harry straightens, the first indication that he knows he’s been caught.

“I can’t do this anymore, Haz,” Liam says. “If things are so great in the past or the future, if that’s the life you need to lead, that’s fine. But I can’t spend my days waiting for you to decide you want to live your life with me. I can’t spend my days wondering whether or not you’re going to come home, or if you’re going to be stuck wherever you are. If I’m going to get a message one day that says you’re trapped in a past century forever. Or no message at all, and I’ll just spend my days wondering and wondering and never knowing what’s happened to you. I don’t know, I don’t know any of it, and I can’t do it anymore.”

Harry ducks his head, the fight in him gone. If it ever existed to begin with.

“I’m going to go now,” Liam murmurs. “I love you so much, but. I can’t take it if you don’t choose me. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.” He presses a kiss to Harry’s forehead and walks away from him.

“You don’t leave yet,” Harry answers, his voice slicing through the silence.

Liam stops in his tracks to look back at him. “What?”

“I get two more years,” he explains desperately, walking towards him. “You don’t leave yet.”

Liam frowns. “You checked up on us?”

“You don’t leave yet,” Harry repeats like it’s going to change anything. “It doesn’t happen this way.”

Liam’s stunned. Harry’s been living with the eventuality of their breakup for who knows how long, and he’s still not done anything to stop it. He could ask Harry why, but he knows what Harry’d say. Some tirade about changing the future, about maintaining the status quo.

The only person who controls Harry’s future is Harry, not some sort of cosmic destiny. Not the pull of future events. Harry can destroy them now or Harry can destroy them later. Doesn’t much matter to Liam when now that he knows Harry’s going to let it happen either way.

Liam shakes his head at him. “It does now.” He turns again for the door.

“Wait,” Harry shouts. Liam’s going to ignore him, even opens the door. but a loud crash stops him in his tracks. He turns back to see the device in pieces on the floor and Harry standing over it, looking wild and desperate.

“Harry,” Liam gasps, looking between him and the shattered device. Years of work, everything Harry’s built, destroyed. “What have you done?”

“You don’t leave yet,” Harry says and steps over the wreckage. “Please. I choose you. If you’ll still have me.”

“I didn’t mean you had to destroy it,” Liam answers, running his hand through his hair. God, it’s not like he can just glue it back together. “Harry, it’s your life’s work.”

“I can build it better,” Harry says. Liam knows he makes a face because Harry’s pressing his hand to Liam’s cheek, and making sure he connects their eyes. “I can do this better.”

–


	4. lirry: canon sickfic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "hey, i was going to eat that!"

Harry’s had a real nightmare of a day, he really has. It was long and full of meetings and obligations and the heat is really getting to him and he’s been a bit ill all week and he’s finally fucking done with his juice cleanse and all he really wants to do is flop in bed and eat the banana he’s been eyeing for the last four days before it’s gotten too brown to be eaten.

Niall’s car is gone, so he suspects the boys have gone off to a club or something, which is just as well. Quiet night in, then.

He kicks off his boots into the shoe caddy by the door and throws his keys into the bowl on top of it. There’s a pair of Liam’s trainers already in there. Harry looks up expectantly as though Liam’s going to greet him, which is ridiculous, and when he doesn’t, he trots around looking for him.

He finds Liam in the kitchen and he’s eating the only banana left in the place and Harry immediately takes offense. Not that he had, like, staked a claim, not that Liam could have possibly psychically known Harry was going to eat that banana because he was too knackered to cook.

But still.

“Heyyyyy, I was gonna eat that,” Harry says, frowning over at him. It’s about all he can muster, but he’s too bone tired to put up much of a fight.

“Oh,” Liam says, and licks up the side of the banana before holding it back out to Harry. “Sorry, you can have it back.”

Harry curses the day they ever met Louis. Liam’s gotten far too cheeky for his liking.

“You’re mean,” Harry says. “Everybody thinks you’re nice, but that’s not true, you’re actually really mean. I’m going to tweet about it.”

“Don’t you dare,” Liam threatens.

Harry digs his phone out of his back pocket. “@Real_Liam_Payne is very mean. You have all been deceived,” he pretends to type.

Liam lunges up out of his chair for Harry and snatches the phone from his hands. He analyzes Harry’s phone and gives him a triumphant  _hmph_ when he’s called Harry’s bluff.

The banana has fallen to the floor in the meantime and now Harry is extra not going to eat it. Harry’s stomach grumbles and they both know it, but then Harry yawns and he’s not sure which of his needs is going to pull him first.

“M’just gonna go to bed,” he decides, mumbling and pouting a little. He doesn’t want Liam to feel too bad about it, but he’s not above being a martyr sometimes.

“Okay,” Liam says, his stupid eyebrows furrowing and his dumb lips pulling into a frown. Sometimes he’s just really better at this kind of thing than Harry is. “Sorry about the banana.”

Harry shrugs and pads off to his room, stripping off layers as he goes. He tosses his clothes into his hamper as soon as he gets in and flops down on his bed in his pants to battle the heat. He shuts his eyes and waits for sleep to take him. It doesn’t, though, sometimes sleep is a real shit like that and won’t come when Harry needs it most.

He can’t sit on his phone because Liam still has it and he can’t sit on his laptop because it’s not on his bed and Harry won’t be moved from his bed. He rolls over and stares up at the ceiling, watching the fan spin round and round, hoping it lulls him to sleep.

“Harry?” Liam says with a quiet knock from the other side of his door. He’s the only one who still knocks. Even when the door is cracked open.

“Mm?” Harry mumbles because words are beyond him.

Liam nudges the door open and enters, carrying a tray of food. As he nears, Harry can see the goods better. It’s a cheese on toast cut neatly in half and a small bowl of tomato soup. A peace offering. Harry is appeased.

“Thought maybe you needed something light to eat after the cleanse,” Liam says quietly, as though speaking in his full voice would disturb Harry’s delicate temperament. It just might.

“Thanks,” Harry says, equally quiet, smiling softly up at him.

Liam shrugs and moves for the door.

“Hungry?” Harry asks before he can get too far. He picks up half of the sandwich and holds it out for him.

Liam settles into bed next to him, carefully so as not to disturb the soup and takes the sandwich, waiting for Harry to take a bite of his half before he tucks into his own.

–


	5. lilo: canon vegas 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "don't ever do that again"

“Don’t you ever do that again,” Louis snaps, not for the first time that night.

“But. It’s my birthdayyyyyyyyy,” Liam says, attempting to lean over to him, but the nurse has a few choice objections for him. Liam goes ramrod straight on the paper-covered bench they’ve sat him on, looking appropriately repentant.

“It’s Niall’s birthday,” Louis says.

“Both of our birthdays,” he amends, crinkling a smile at him. “Birthday buddies.”

Louis is too sober for this. 

Louis had been well on his way to getting absolutely fucked when he’d got the call, but he sobered up all too quickly once he found himself being shuttled to a Las Vegas A&E because Liam had been in some sort of accident. He drove himself mad along the way, neither he nor Alberto had been particularly well-informed about the situation. So naturally Louis imagined the worst possible circumstances.

Niall and Zayn weren’t answering their phones and Harry was god knows where and it was just Louis and an unbelievable amount of traffic for 1 am standing in the way between him and Liam at hospital.

He met up with a drunk and sad Liam nursing just a broken wrist and Louis was relieved for all of thirty seconds before he became absolutely furious.

When they’d asked Liam what he’d been doing at the time of the injury, he’d said, quite proudly, he’d been “throwing some crazy shapes.” Which apparently meant attempting to do the worm down a small flight of stairs whilst drunk.

His beige cast was, as told by Liam, a disappointing color.

“You’ll take whatever color they give you and you’ll be happy about it,” Louis says.

“I’m very happy with beige,” he tells the nurse before she nods politely and leaves them alone.

Louis throws a look back to Paddy, who stands grumpily with his arms crossed outside their door, before turning back to Liam. He knows Paddy’s beating himself up about letting Liam get hurt. He’ll have to deal with that later. 

“You gave me a real fright, Payno,” Louis says, quiet enough not to be overheard.

Liam looks crushed. “I’m sorry,” he says in a stage whisper. Drunk Liam doesn’t know how to whisper. It’s frustratingly endearing. “I won’t do it again, I promise.”

Louis nods and reaches for his good hand, the one where fingers aren’t all tied up by plaster, and gives it a squeeze. “Don’t give me a reason to worry.”

“I won’t,” Liam promises again. “I’m supposed to worry about you.”

“That’s right,” Louis says. “I’m the fuck up here, don’t you forget it.”

Liam smiles and shakes his head, looking sleepy all of the sudden. “Not a fuck up,” he mumbles, giving a squeeze of his own before he’s out like a light.

–


	6. niam: body painting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "the paint's supposed to go where?"

“I’m sorry, the paint’s supposed to go  _where_?” Liam stutters even though he heard Niall quite clearly when he told Liam to take his shirt off.

“Your stomach. You’re orange, we can’t do the flag without orange. Off ya go.” Niall flaps his hands at him until Liam is emboldened enough to peel off his shirt.

Louis, already done up in green paint, wolf whistles from the corner, and Niall whips around to flip him off and tell him to go fuck himself when Liam presses his shirt back to his torso.

“Don’t listen to him,” Niall says quietly, tugging at Liam’s shirt until he lets go of it. He surveys Liam’s chest, then runs all ten of his fingers down his skin. Liam doesn’t shiver. “Excellent canvas,” he adds with a ridiculous French accent and does the thing that chefs do where they kiss their fingers and toss them up like  _bon appetit_.

Liam watches him carefully sponge orange paint at his tummy, Niall’s tongue resting between his braces-laden teeth. Liam wonders what it would be like kissing someone with braces. Is it a bit uncomfortable, are the braces all pokey, will his lips get stuck in them? He’d be willing to give it a go if Louis weren’t being in the corner and if he weren’t an absolute terror.

He tries not to breathe so heavy as he thinks he needs to given how close Niall’s face is to him and how delicate Niall is painting him. It almost tickles, but he stifles his giggles for Niall’s sake.

When he deems his work done, Niall takes a step back. He surveys Liam very seriously, his eyes raking up and down to study Liam like he’s a work of art. Maybe he is. Niall’s work of art.

Then he dips his thumb back into the paint and smears a line across Liam’s forehead.

“Simba,” he says, maintaining a straight face for a few moments before breaking away to howl with laughter, his eyes pinching shut.

Liam beams and chuckles himself, happy just to be part of the joke.

“All right, let’s go,” Niall says with a clap of his hands after he wipes the spare paint on his hands directly onto his trousers.

“Hang on,” Liam says, “don’t you need some paint?”

“Nah. I’m the middle of the flag.”

“So?”

“So Niall is so pale if you painted him white, he’d get tanner,” Louis says.

“Shut it, Tommo,” Niall says, but he’s smiling.

“But you are going to take your shirt off, aren’t you?” Liam asks. In the interest of fairness. Not for any other reason.

“Sure thing,” Niall says with a wink.

–


	7. narry: canon awards show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "tell me a secret"  
> niall's pov and harry's pov

_niall_

Niall doesn’t like it when Harry shuts down. He watches him do it, like sometimes it looks like there’s an actual power down process Harry does in order to turn off  _Harry Styles_  and just become Harry.

They’ve just gotten off the red carpet and been interviewed a thousand and a half times with the same old questions and they smile the same old smiles and they give the same old answers.

Until the last one.

“What about you, Harry?” the interviewer had asked, throwing a wink to him and all but shoving the microphone under his nose.“You got someone special waiting for you back in LA?”

“If I’m not in a polyamorous relationship with everyone I’ve ever been photographed with, I have been woefully misled,” Harry had said, leaving each of them in shock. He smiled his popstar smile and shrugged his shoulders. “Have a lovely evening,” he added before they were pushed inside the venue.

Their handlers had led them into the lobby and Liam had been stunned into silence and Louis had found it fucking hilarious and Niall had taken it in stride. And Harry had shut down, his posture sinking, his eyes going blank, his focus on nothing at all. And like that, he becomes impenetrable. Not that he wasn’t impenetrable before –  _Harry Styles_  is as impenetrable as it gets – but this is different. Because it’s Niall who can’t crack him.

Harry sits on a lobby bench and stares at his phone, pretending to text someone. Niall can tell just from a glance that he’s not actually doing anything else but writing words in the Notes app. He’s borrowed (taken) Harry’s phone more times than he can count and snooped around and found note after note, sometimes full of song lyrics; some of observations; others of reminders, possibly written while drunk, just notes with one sentence like _don’t forget the green monkey before you go_.

“Tell me a secret,” Niall says, sliding next to him on the bench, practically on top of him, if he’s going to be honest.

Harry slowly looks over at Niall and Niall can see him powering up. He’s just not sure which Harry he’s going to get when he’s done.

“I’ve got four nipples,” he supplies after a moment.

“That’s  _definitely_ not a secret.”

“I can’t lick my elbow.”

“That’s just a fact.”

Harry blinks at him. “Why do you need to know a secret?”

Niall can’t tell him. He can’t say that for someone who used to give every inch of himself to the world, it now terrifies Niall to see him shut down. That even though Harry looks like he’s an open book and pretends he is an open book, he’s better at keeping secrets than anyone Niall knows.

“‘Cause I’m a nosy bugger,” Niall says instead.

Harry considers this for a moment and says, “I love you most of all.”

Niall considers this for a moment and says, “Also not a secret.”

–-

_harry_

Harry feels numb about the whole thing. 

He wishes he didn’t, or at least he tells himself he wishes he didn’t, because the alternative makes him ungrateful of everything he’s been given. He’s not ungrateful, far from it, but there’s no easy way he can explain to everyone that he’s been stripped bare by everything he’s been given. That he’s worried one day there will be nothing left of him but his name and what everyone else thinks that means.

Harry’s not even aware a question is directed at him until he’s suddenly got a microphone wiggling in front of his lips. He blinks over at Liam for a half a second like he can give him some sort of clue, but Liam gives him nothing. He’s only ever dependable when Louis isn’t being an attention-grabbing shit.

“You got someone special waiting for you back in LA?” the interviewer prompts.

Harry’s eyebrows quirk up and blinks at her.  _You don’t get to know that_ , he decides, _that belongs to me_. He’s long since stopped getting angry about these kinds of questions – he has to be, or he’d spend all of his life with no relief.

“If I’m not in a polyamorous relationship with everyone I’ve ever been photographed with, I have been woefully misled,” Harry says anyway, far more flippant than he usually allows himself to be.

Louis actually barks a laugh, which nearly surprises Harry that he’s even aware they’re in the same city as each other. Harry doesn’t need to check Liam’s face to know he’s got to look dumbfounded.

He can see from the corner of his eye, Niall is watching him carefully. He can’t discern much of Niall’s expression, partly because he can’t see it, but also because Niall wears a mask almost as well as Harry does.

He smiles his very best popstar smile back at the interviewer and shrugs his shoulders. “Have a lovely evening,” he adds, just to fill the silence before they’re being ushered away towards the door.

He’s vaguely aware he’s being yelled at, but he knows he can get away with not listening. He can shuffle off to a bench to decompress before they have to find their seats, to blink away the spots in his eyes from the camera flashes, to try to remember what it’s like not to be on all the time.

“Tell me a secret,” Niall says suddenly, sliding next to him on the bench.

Harry slowly looks over at Niall, taking the time to put himself in the mindset of talking to Niall. Not that Niall has to be handled or spoken to a certain way. Harry just has to find that part of himself that’s for people who know him. Sometimes it takes a while to find it.

“I’ve got four nipples,” he supplies after a moment.

Niall looks unimpressed. “That’s  _definitely_ not a secret.”

“I can’t lick my elbow.”

“That’s just a fact.”

Harry tries not to feel exasperated, like not only does the entire world want a piece of him, but so does Niall. His boys are supposed to be exempt. They’re supposed to be the only ones who don’t expect anything of him. They’ve promised.

“Why do you need to know a secret?” It comes out a little blunter than he intends.

Niall blinks at him. “‘Cause I’m a nosy bugger.”

Harry doesn’t buy it, not for a second. Niall knows there had been a time when he’d jump on an answer, ready to provide anything and everything someone would want to know about him just because he was excited someone even cared.

In the early days, he was too enamored by the fact that everyone wanted a piece of him. He was too busy giving away every inch of himself that he didn’t leave anything leftover that only belonged to him. No amount was ever enough – no matter how hard he tried to be everything for everyone, it was never enough. That used to eat him up inside.

Now he hoards everything. What he does give, he gives carefully, perfectly cultivated so he can say something without saying anything at all  He’s just not sure whether it’s selfish or whether it’s necessary for him to survive.

Niall deserves better than that, so Harry narrows down every secret part of him swimming around in his head to something safe. Something that he knows Niall would appreciate, something that he knows Niall would never turn back on him.

“I love you most of all,” he decides. He watches Niall process this information for a thoughtful moment, almost leans towards him in anticipation of his response.

“Also not a secret,” Niall answers, almost like a challenge.

Harry looks up at him, unsure of whether he should feel comforted Niall knows or terrified that he hasn’t been able to keep this part of himself locked up where it’s safe like he thought.

–-


	8. tomlinshaw: canon reluctant love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “I swear it was an accident.” / “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

Nick isn’t entirely sure who he was expecting on the other side of the door, but it wasn’t Louis Tomlinson. Certainly not after three full weeks of radio silence. Nick wasn’t exactly sure where they stood, what with how Nick had woken up alone one morning and Louis’d taken his shit and his overnight bag and hadn’t come back.

If Louis’ scowl is anything to go by, it appears they’re not entirely in good standing.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Louis says, but he doesn’t actually say it the way it’s meant to be said. It’s not, like, sweet or simpering, there’s no heart eyes about it. Which would be fine by Nick, if he’s going to be honest, were it not for how Louis actually seems quite perturbed by the fact. Like it’s Nick’s fault he’s fallen in love.

“I swear it was an accident,” he continues. “But it’s  _you_ , innit? Your mouth is too big and your laugh is stupid and you’re nice to me even when I’m shit to you and then you’re shit to me when I’m shit to you and you don’t let me get away with anything and sometimes I can’t decide if I like your hair when it’s all floppy on your forehead after you get out of a shower or when it’s done up in that fucking quiff and I like that your dumb dog likes me better than he likes you. And, like. Fuck it all but I’m in love with you. So.”

Louis flaps a hand before settling it on his waist and looks up at Nick expectantly. Forgive Nick if he isn’t exactly swept off his feet.

“So Harry’s here,” Nick says at last.

He follows Louis’ eyeline over to where Harry is waving at them from the sofa, not even bothering to turn his attention away from the television and towards them. “Hey, Lou,” he calls.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis says, turning swiftly on his heel and storming out of the flat, slamming the door shut behind him.

Nick almost doesn’t follow him for a full minute – serves him right, or at least, it would have served him right. But Nick runs after him anyway, nearly chases him down the street to stop him before he gets into his car and drives off. He’s honestly surprised Louis hadn’t left already.

“Louis, wait,” he says and then bends over to catch his breath. Fuck, he’s not been to the gym in ages. Three weeks, in fact.

“What is it?” Louis asks sharply.

Nick holds a finger up while he takes his breaths.

“What’s wrong,” Louis snaps, “did you miss Soulcycle this week?”

“You are such a twat,” Nick says, straightening up and enjoying how much he towers over Louis in this moment.

“Well,” Louis says, his eyebrows jumping up indignantly. He purses his lips and makes for his car again.

“But I guess I love you too,” Nick finishes. Because he is. And, admittedly, he’s not sure what to do with that information, but he shares it nonetheless. He’s been a real wreck these last three weeks.

Louis pauses. “Yeah?” He almost sounds vulnerable, but he can’t be. That’s not Louis.

“Begrudgingly. But. Yeah.”

“Yeah, all right,” Louis decides, and that’s that.

–-


	9. ziam: canon zayn pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "please don't leave"

He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t  _get it_. He doesn’t ever think he’ll get it. And he sure doesn’t know how to process it. Even days later. 

He knows he shouldn’t have left Louis alone to scream on his own that day. He shouldn’t have let Niall leave. He shouldn’t have let Harry shut down and shut everyone out. And he shouldn’t have let Zayn into his room to start packing his suitcase. 

Today was a bad day because tomorrow is the last day. Liam had found a treadmill in the hotel and ran until he nearly passed out and Mark got so mad he sent Liam to bed early. Liam thinks he might be too old to be sent to bed, but he goes anyway.

He lies in bed and keeps his eyes are pressed closed like that’s going to stop Zayn’s face from flashing before them. 

“I don’t want to do it anymore,” Zayn had said. 

“Why? What happened?” Liam had asked.  _What did I do wrong?_  he hadn’t asked. 

“Nothing happened, Liam,” Zayn had answered. “It wasn’t one thing.”

“Yeah, because he’s been fucking thinking about it for months,” Louis had snapped. 

And Niall had left without a word and Zayn had moved to follow him and Harry had looked at him, emotionless, and had said  _don’t_ before going after Niall. 

Liam didn’t want to overwhelm Zayn with questions and Louis didn’t want to hear the answers. 

There were twenty-three meetings and Zayn booked a flight home and the final concert they pretended wasn’t final. And all too quickly it felt like they were over.

Liam’s spent days wondering where it all went wrong for Zayn. Why now? Why here? Why leave before they’re done? He can’t figure it out. 

Because Zayn’s experience was so singular. In a way, all of their experiences are too singular. The five of them are the only people in the world who understand what each other are going through. And yet they have no idea what they’re all going through. 

They’ve all had shit thrown on them – some more than others, most more than Liam, surely – and sometimes it felt like the world was bound and determined to tear them down as much as they held them up. 

But there were always people to hold them up. That’s what they all said, wasn’t it? Take the good with the bad. Because the good outweighs the bad, no matter what. They had each other and their families and their fans and their music. And that outweighs the bad.

Doesn’t it? Best job in the world. That’s what they all say. Best job in the world.

The door eases open slowly, so quietly that if it weren’t the light from the hall pouring in, he wouldn’t have known anyone was there. 

He doesn’t open his eyes and he doesn’t need to because he knows the smell of Zayn’s cologne anywhere. 

He has to stop thinking about it that way, Zayn’s cologne. Could be anyone’s now. After tomorrow, it won’t mean Zayn’s around when he catches its scent. 

Zayn crawls into bed with Liam, goes straight under the covers like he knows he still belongs there. He’ll always belong there.

Liam rolls over and presses his face to Zayn’s chest and they both pretend his shirt isn’t slowly dampening with Liam’s tears as Zayn’s hand slowly trails up and down his back. 

He doesn’t get it. 

“Please, don’t leave,” Liam whispers. 

Zayn’s hand stops and he doesn’t say anything. Liam knows he isn’t going to. 

–-


	10. narry: karaoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "please don't do this"

“Please don’t do this,” Harry mutters, burying his face in his hands.

“Oh, I’m doing it,” Niall says.

“I’m literally asking you not to.”

“It’s already done, Harry.”

“What can I do to stop you?”

“Not a damn thing.” Niall leaps up out of his seat when they call his name and bounces to the stage.

Harry sinks down in his seat as Niall thanks the  _adoring_ crowd of adults who probably have no fucking clue who they are, thank god. One of these days he’s doing to learn how to say no to Niall, he really is.

“Good evening, Los Angeles!” Niall crows. They’re in Chicago. “This is a very special song for a very special friend. This one’s for you, Harry.”

The all too familiar guitar chords start up and Niall comes out swinging. The song fits surprisingly well in his range.

“I remember when we broke up – the first time – saying this is it, I’ve had enough, ‘cause like, we hadn’t seen each other in a month, when you said you needed space, _what_ ,” Niall sings, finishing out the verse before warbling through the first of the  _oohs_ and bursting into the chorus.

Harry’s face is likely beet red, but then he surveys the unimpressed crowd of watching a young man slay a Taylor Swift song. He almost gets angry on Niall’s behalf.

“Harry get your arse up here,” Niall says, instead of  _like… ever_.

Harry shakes his head.

“ _Harry get the fuck up here_.”

Harry shakes his head. Niall widens his eyes at him threatening and Harry pulls himself out of his chair and thumps grumpily up to the stage. Niall starts singing the next verse, looking at Harry expectantly. Harry could fake that he doesn’t know the song. But that’d just be a lie. So he grabs the second microphone off the other stand and comes in just in time to start on his own  _oohs_.

“You go talk to your friends talk to my friends  _talk to me_ ,” Harry growls, his eyes scrunched shut in concentration like he knows he does in concerts, but look, he’s fucking feeling the song and he can’t pretend anymore.

“Talk to me!” Niall echoes and they come together to sing, “Weeeeeeeeeee are _never ever ever ever_ getting back together.”

Niall steps back and lets Harry take the bridge and he sweetly croons, “I used to think that we were forever ever…” before they explode back into the last two choruses, Harry taking the big no, and they’re jumping up and down and stomping their feet like the idiot popstars that they are and it’s just fun. It’s  _fun_. And it’s why Harry can’t say no to Niall.

They take their bows to polite applause.

“I’m going to get so much shit for this tomorrow,” Harry says because he has eyes on at least three phones in the audience recording this.

“Yeah,” Niall laughs, so that was clearly his intention. “It’s gonna be fuckin’ hilarious.”

–-


	11. lirry: another canon sickfic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "hey. i'm with you, okay? always."

Liam looks like shit and he feels like shit and he’s pretty confident no one will notice if he keeps his head down.

He doesn’t get colds, not now, not ever, and certainly not sick to stay home in bed. He did enough of that as a kid and he won’t let it happen again. Not when they’ve got a whole new album to record.

He settles into a chair behind the blokes at the soundboard and watches as they play back certain sections of Zayn’s vocals and make adjustments. He can’t wait for the day where he’s allowed to get behind the soundboard, mixing and producing on his own. He wonders if he’ll ever get there.

Harry’s the only one in the booth, taking his direction with a smile, until he glances over at Liam and his face drops.

“Are you sick?” he says into the microphone so Liam can hear it.

Liam shakes his head and throws him a thumbs up. Harry squints like he doesn’t believe him, but goes about singing his parts when they ask him to. Liam tries not to interrupt, but his nose is leaking, down his throat, causing a cough, and out his nostrils, causing far too much violent nose blowing.

Harry seems to be making his excuses, setting down his headphones and shuffling out of the booth. “Let’s get you home,” he says.

“I’ve got to record my bits,” Liam argues half-heartedly.

“You can record them tomorrow,” he decides, glancing at the other blokes in the room and gaining their approval.

“I’m fine, honestly,” he says before Harry interrupts any further reassurances.

“Come on.” Harry practically frogmarches him to the door.

“I’m  _fine_ ,” Liam says, but he goes anyway because security’s following him and they don’t seem keen to let him stay either.

“Are you mad at me?” Harry asks after minutes of silence as they’re driven away from the studio.

“No, why would you say that?”

“You’ve been scowling the last ten minutes.”

Liam hasn’t been scowling. Frowning, maybe, but not scowling. “I’ve got a job to do. I’ve got obligations. I can’t just go home.”

“It’s not a sniffle, Liam, you look like death.”

“Cheers, Harry.”

“And you know the rest of us have called off for less. What’s really going on?”

Liam sighs. “I just want to be there.”

“You can take one day for yourself. No one’s going to get mad.”

“What if you guys decide you sound better without me,” Liam mumbles.

“Liam.  _Liam_ ,” Harry says, his face wrenching like he’s in pain. “How could you ever think that?”

Liam shrugs. “I don’t know. I just worry about it sometimes.”

“Well,” Harry starts and then shakes his head. “Don’t.”

“Oh, okay then,” Liam grumbles, resting his head against the cool window. It’s a small relief for a few moments until it sends shivers through him and his body decides it’s too cold now instead of two warm.

The driver stops in front of Harry’s place, not Liam’s, which Liam hadn’t even noticed. They don’t talk as Harry bustles him through the door and leads him directly to bed, handing Liam some pajamas, and leaving him to change.

 _Don’t think that way_ , Harry says, like it’s that easy. Like he can turn off the voice inside his head that overpowers the one that tells him he can succeed, like he can turn off the doubts that creep in after he spends too much time on Twitter. The one that tells him his success is a fluke and even if they make ten albums instead of two, he’ll still only be a talentless boybander to the rest of the world.

He has to prove himself. He can’t afford to be ill. He can’t afford to take a day off. He can’t give up, because then they’ll be right about him.

Harry comes back with what looks like a gallon of water and a bunch of tablets. He watches as Liam settles into Harry’s bed and pulls the duvet up to his chin to fight the chill.

“I just need you to take care of yourself, okay?” Harry says, his voice soft and his eyes earnest. “We need you. You’re Liam. We literally cannot function without you, you know, we’d be in a shambles, so you need to be well.”

“I’m not poorly, I’m fine,” Liam insists.

“Fine,” Harry says and it’s a little short. “You should still take these as a preventative measure, then. In case you  _happen_ to fall ill.”

He struggles to swallow a few tablets, but gets them down eventually, trying to suck in as much water as he can. Harry watches him so close Liam nearly opens his mouth to prove it’s empty.

“Need you to get better, Liam,” he says. “Need you.”

Liam believes him. It’s hard to, but he does. He reaches out to catch Harry’s hand just as he’s trying to leave, pressing into his palm a silent plea not to be left alone. Liam needs him too.

“Hey, I’m with you,” Harry murmurs. “Okay? Always.”

Liam nods but Harry seems to think that’s not enough. He pulls up the duvet and slips in, maneuvering Liam around until Liam’s curled up against him with an arm across his stomach.

“You’ll get sick,” Liam says but makes no effort to pull away. He’s too comfortable and too sleepy to move.

“Thought you weren’t sick,” Harry says.

Liam closes his eyes. “I’m not.”

–-


	12. lirry: kennedy space center

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "i almost lost you"

“I almost lost you, didn’t I?” Liam laughs, staring out at the crowd of nearly glazed over eyes from the children who sit on plastic food court chairs in front of him. “Where was it? It was the maths, wasn’t it? Don’t worry, you’ve got years and years to learn it all. Don’t give up. It’s not as if it’s rocket science.”

He pauses and waits for the laughs that don’t come. He does get a few pity smiles from the teachers. “I’m joking, it is rocket science. Anyway, I think that’s me done. Does anyone have any questions?”

A girl down in front raises her hand and Liam calls on her. “How did you get to be an astronaut? Is your family astronauts too?”

“No, my dad’s in computers and my mum’s a teacher. I was just a kid from Wolverhampton and nobody knows where that is, do they?” he asks, looking out for the shaking of heads he expects.

Liam locks eyes with a stunningly attractive bloke in the back, a teacher most like. He’s nodding his head yes. Liam smiles at him.

“I worked really hard in school so I could come study here in America at a place called MIT,” he continues. “Have you heard of it?”

None of them have.

“Well. It’s a school for science and it’s very big and it’s very good. I became a doctor, and not the kind that’s going to look at any scraped knees, so don’t come to me with any of those. A space doctor.”

“Like Doctor Who,” says a kid.

“Um,” Liam says, weighing the pros and cons of likening himself to a time-travelling alien. “Sure. Like Doctor Who. You don’t have to be a space doctor to go up into space, but it certainly helps. They asked me to come study dark matter, which is very complicated, you remember, as you all nearly fell asleep when I was explaining it just five minutes ago.”

He takes a few more questions until the kids seem to run out of steam. He thinks he’s nearly done, but then there’s a lone hand in the back, belonging to the stunningly attractive teacher bloke.

Liam nods at him and the bloke blinks back slowly and speaks even slower, “How do you have a wee in space?” He’s English, then, so that explains how familiar he is with obscure towns back home.

The kids perk up and turn back to Liam with an interest he hasn’t seen all morning.

“What’s your name?”

“Harry,” he says, instead of the Mr. Whatever His Last Name Is he’s expecting.

“Thank you for the question, Harry. Do you all know what a catheter is?” he asks and the kids shake their heads. Harry is laughing into his hand and the other teachers look scandalized. “Well, ask your parents when you get home,” he adds, knowing they’ll all have forgotten the word by tonight.

“Thank you very much, Dr. Payne,” says one of the teachers, clapping her hands to urge the kids to clap along as well.

“Thank  _you_ , this is the best tour I’ve had so far,” Liam says. “I just want everyone to remember, okay? It doesn’t matter who you are or where you’ve come from. You could be from Wolverhampton like me or from Orlando like you or, you know, from Antarctica, it doesn’t matter. The stars are always within your reach. And there’s absolutely nothing standing in your way. Trust me, I’ve done it. I’ve been to space, and from space, nothing like fear or doubt exists. Only possibility. Just infinite possibility.”

He smiles out because he sees he’s gotten a few of them. There are a couple of astronauts sitting there in the audience, he can see it in their eyes, the way they’re overcome with awe. That’s all it takes, really. To be told it can be done. Well, that and years of studying and training and dedicating your life to science, but… For the most part. That’s all it takes.

“Have a great rest of your tour,” he tells the kids as they shuffle by him, and out of the food court area. “Try some space ice cream, I promise it’s not as bad as it looks.”

Harry sidles up to him last, grinning and sipping out of a giant Space Shuttle-shaped bottle that looks absolutely ridiculous. “An excellent presentation, Dr. Payne.”

“Thank you very much.”

“I’ve actually got a couple more questions, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course,” Liam says, sliding off from his table and walking with Harry after the group, trailing behind a bit.

“What made you come back to Earth?” Harry asks. “And stay, I mean. Didn’t you want to come back?”

It’s the question Liam gets most. Young to fly, young to retire from flight.

“Seems a bit selfish, doesn’t it? To keep going and going when there are other people who haven’t got the chance yet.” Liam shrugs as best he can lying on the floor. No civilian ever seems to understand that logic, but if those who have gone before him hadn’t done the same thing, he’d have never made it up. He’s spent the better part of a year up there; he’s good with just the one trip.

“Next question, have you ever wanted to go to the moon?”

“Absolutely,” Liam says. “Unfortunately, I don’t think we’ll ever go back there. Been there, conquered that, move onto something bigger.”

“Manifest destiny, yeah?”

“Something like that. Have you ever touched the moon rock?” Liam asks, subtly guiding him over to where the moon rock is showcased. It’s gone shiny over time, thousands upon thousands of greasy fingers all over it, and there’s likely no bits of moon actually left on it. Liam has, luckily, held actual bits of the moon in his hands. An astronaut rite of passage, it is. But he likes that they keep at least this one piece out for everyone to get ahold of.

Everybody should be able to grasp a piece of space. Nothing inspires awe quite like a moon rock.

Harry dutifully prods at the moon rock until he’s satisfied. “Brilliant,” he decides. “What made you become an astronaut?”

“Well, my mum always told me I always had my head in the clouds,” Liam says. “So I thought, might as well get the rest of me up there while I was at it.”

“But really,” Harry presses, eyes wide with curiosity.

“I dunno, it’s like, so,  _Star Trek_ , you know? Space really is the final frontier. There’s something about figuring out the unknowable. Going where no one else has gone before. Well, like, some other people have gone before, I’m not the only one who’s been to the ISS. But. It’s a singular experience. And I knew I needed to have it.”

“I like that,” Harry murmurs, turning so he can look out at the command module behind him. Liam didn’t know he wanted Harry’s approval, but he finds he’s relieved he’s gotten it. “And it was worth it?”

“Every second. It’s like nothing I can ever put into words.”

Liam grabs Harry by the wrist without really meaning to. He could have just said follow me and walked him over, but something about Harry just makes him want to reach out and touch him. To feel him, solid and tangible and full of weight. Liam knows better than most how easy it is to take for granted things that are solid and tangible because space is infinite and weight-free and it was hard to feel like he’d got ahold of anything up there, like anything was permanent or constant.

Harry dutifully lopes after him, twisting his wrist until he’s caught Liam’s hand instead. He lets go of Harry’s hand as he carefully lies on the floor, right underneath the Saturn V’s rocket engines so he can see the rest of the rocket sprawled out ahead of them.

He’s never actually done this before, always sort of wanted to. It’s 10 am on a Wednesday in February so the only people really coming through are school groups anyway. He can get away with it.

He beckons for Harry until Harry crawls onto the floor next to him, resting his head against his arms as they bracket his head. Liam points out all of the parts in the rocket engine, working his way from the nozzle extension through the turbine exhaust manifold, all the way up to the gimbal.

Harry nods appreciatively and plays along, says, “Ah, the gimbal, yes, that was always my favorite bit.”

“Sorry, sometimes it’s hard to turn it off,” Liam says, his cheeks pinking.

“Don’t apologize.” Harry grins at him and drops his voice even lower and huskier, “Talk nerdy to me,  _Dr. Payne_.”

Liam slaps his hands over his eyes in shame as he shakes with silent laughter.

“So. You’re the first Brit to ever stay on the International Space Station, wow,” Harry says, completely unaffected by Liam’s meltdown. That’s nice, that he remembered that bit from Liam’s speech. “You’re quite…”

“Young?” Liam guesses. He knows. He’s had the piss taken out of him in Russian god knows how many times for his age.

“I was going to say impressive, but I think you’re right. Young is better.”

Liam chuckles. “Thanks for that.”

“Are you here often? Like volunteering?”

“I work at the Vehicle Assembly Building, actually, but I like to sneak over when I can. Sometimes I do just wander about, answer questions. There’s really something special when the kids realize they’re talking to an real life astronaut.” He pauses. “There’s actually no way to say that where it doesn’t make me sound really conceited.”

“You’re right, my whole opinion of you has been absolutely ruined,” Harry deadpans.

“Well, honestly,” Liam laughs. “The kids aren’t always like those ones, you know. One time there was this little one, about four or so, and she was in her Why Stage, you know, _mum why’s the sky blue, mum why are all the rockets so big, mum why is that bit of the space shuttle painted orange_ , and the like. So her mum’s just proper exasperated and she pulls me aside and sits her daughter in front of me and says, _please help me_ , and that little girl, she about did me in. I wasn’t sure I had any more to give after that. I’d answered so many questions, I swear I was about to fall over.”

Harry chuckles and his laugh takes up the whole space, echoing off of the high ceilings and around the rocket. They sit there in silence for a moment before Harry starts rumbling through the “Rocket Man” chorus, like Liam hasn’t had that song been sung to him about a thousand times in the last seven years.

Liam joins him on the one falsetto  _rocket maaaan_ , both of the simultaneously, psychically deciding to sound absolutely ridiculous instead of making a real go at it. They collapse into giggles before lapsing into another comfortable silence, breathing together.

Liam looks away from Harry, which isn’t easy to do, and up at the Saturn V as it stretches the length of the room, all 363 feet of it, the stuff of legends. “Just makes you feel small, doesn’t it?”

“Makes me feel big,” Harry says. “Like we can do anything.”

“Yeah,” Liam says. He likes the sound of that.

They get off the floor at the sounds of someone else coming into the building and shuffle along like nothing strange had just happened, like two regular lads just having a lie down on the floor beneath a massive rocket.

Time flies with Harry, and Liam thinks about making some joke about relativity and space, but he thinks the setup of explaining the science behind the joke might not be worth the actual joke.

After he realizes they’ve been wandering for quite some time and the school group is nowhere to be found, Liam asks, “D’you need to get back to the kids or something?”

“Oh, no,” Harry says. “I’ve just been. Er. I’m on my break. This is me.” He juts his hand at the gift shop, called the Right Stuff, they’ve come to a stop in front of. Liam shouldn’t have assumed. He likes that Harry’s come over to spend his break listening to Liam blather on about space. He hopes they get to do it again.

“Ah,” Liam says, delighted, just as Harry very carefully pins on a Kennedy Space Center name tag. When he’s done, he dimples a smile up at Liam and Liam stupidly grins back. “So I suppose I’ll see you around then.”

“Count on it,” Harry says, walking into the gift shop with his back to Liam. “In T-minus five… four… three.. two…” he counts down before he starts to turn back around.

–-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [you can take a virtual tour of the apollo/saturn v center [here](https://www.kennedyspacecenter.com/the-experience/apollo-saturn-v-center.aspx)]


	13. lilo: x-factor sickfic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently i love sickfic whatever

Liam eases the door closed as quietly as he can manage just in case Louis’ sleeping. He’s not sleeping, though. He’s had trouble in hotel beds since he’s left home, and Liam’s sure his cold isn’t making things any easier for him.

Not that he’d ever tell Liam. He’d tell anybody but Liam.

“Welcome to quarantine,” Louis grunts from where he’s laid up on the bed, snuggled in up to his chin under the duvet and surrounded by about four hundred used tissues. His voice has dropped a few octaves easy with his sore throat, sounding much rougher than he usually does. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve just come to see how you were,” Liam says, shuffling forward. It’s been hours since he’s been checked on, all of the boys having been sufficiently terrified and lectured against visiting Louis, lest they fall ill as well. But it’s late and Liam can’t sleep without knowing if he’s all right.

“Fucking miserable, thanks, though,” Louis answers.

Liam drops his head, letting his fringe slide over his eyes so Louis can’t see the way his cheeks pink in embarrassment. It was a stupid question, really, like, of course Louis’ still doing poorly. He gets that. But he doesn’t see the need to be snapped at for caring.

“Lighten up, would you?” Louis adds at the sight. “There’s only room for one miserable sod in this relationship, and it’s gonna be the one who’s poorly. Sad Liam is of no use to anyone.”

Liam fights a smile – it’s ridiculous how something so simple makes him feel a little better. Their relationship. It’s rare that Louis’ willing to lump the two of them together, that Louis is willing to admit he needs Liam. Even if he is just joking.

Sometimes he thinks he might be able to keep up with Louis, if he works at it. It’s just so hard to tell when he’s joking and when he’s properly upset with Liam. Jokes are usually followed by a dick slap or a nipple pinch, but Louis’ not doing much of anything now.

“Nice to hear you’ve finally hit puberty,” Liam tries. “How does it feel to finally be a man?”

It’s a bold move. Louis has been a bit touchy about his voice from the start, which Liam never really got. He’s never met anybody who sounds like Louis, nobody’s voice is as unique. Louis just never takes it as a compliment whenever Liam tells him so.

Against all odds, the joke lands. Louis’ eyes light up, crinkling the way they do when he’s delighted, and his lips curl up in a smile. Liam’s not used to having this face directed at him, but he thinks he could get used to it.

Liam blinks at him. “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile at me?”

“Shut up, Liam,” Louis snaps playfully, dropping his smile and resuming his sickly grimace.

“Brought you some more water,” Liam says, lifting up the two bottles in his hands.

“I don’t want any more water. If I have any more water, I’ll  _become_ water” – he stops to blow his nose and cough a few times – “like that guy in the first  _X-Men_  movie. I’ve peed nine times today, Liam. Nine times. I won’t go again, I won’t.”

“It’s important to stay hydrated.” He sets the bottles down on the table to prove a point. “You’ve got to get better.”

“Death would be kinder,” Louis sniffs.

He reaches out for Louis’ forehead, pressing the back of his hand gently underneath Louis’ damp fringe. He’s warm, clammy, feverish. That won’t do.

Louis watches him closely as he pokes through the drugs on the table and reads the instructions.

“When’s the last time you had this one?” Liam asks.

He squints at the clock. “Six hours.”

Liam pops a pill out of the pack and holds it out for him. Louis scrunches up his face, but holds out his tongue anyway. Liam drops the pill very carefully onto his tongue from a safe height and cracks open a water bottle for him.

Louis drinks enough to swallow the pill, but Liam won’t take the bottle back from him, no matter how many times he waves it at Liam. No matter how much of the water spills over onto the bed. Louis makes a groaning sound and sucks down at least half of the water before he’s out of breath, waving the bottle back at Liam again.

“I can get you a tea from room service,” Liam says as he caps the bottle and lays it back on the table. He’s learned Louis works on incentives. Ask him to do something and he does it? Reward. He wonders if Louis’ caught onto that yet.

Liam runs his fingers through Louis’ fringe, pushing it up off his forehead as best he can, and he takes a clean tissue to sop up some of the sweat. Louis lets his eyes drift slowly shut, like he’s powering down, practically melting under Liam’s care. This is what he needs. This is why he shouldn’t be left alone.

“Don’t want their shit tea, want me mum’s tea, want a Yorkshire,” he whines, his voice growing soft.

“I can get you a Yorkshire.”

Louis huffs. “You do that,” he says, burying his face into his pillow and appearing to fall asleep.

Liam watches him for a few minutes, waiting to see if he’s faking it or if he’s going to wake up again, before he quietly sneaks out of the room to head for the elevator.

“Hold on, where do you think you’re going?” Joe asks, appearing literally from the air like he can sense Liam’s on a mission.

Joe’s their minder - that’s not his official title, his official title is something much more grownup than that. But Louis calls him their minder, so that’s what they all do. They don’t even need a minder besides, most of them are almost old enough to drink. Also they have Liam and he’s told regularly he’s minder enough for the five of them.

“Louis’ requested a Yorkshire, I figured I’d try to find a shop.”

Joe looks at Liam like he’s crazy which, at this point, Liam is pretty used to anyway. “Are you mental, you’re not going out to the shops to get tea, not even at this hour, you’ll get mobbed.” He starts to shoo Liam back to his own room, and Liam resents being ushered like a sheep.

“I won’t get mobbed,” Liam says. “I’ll put on a hat.”

“If it’s that important to him, we’ll get him some tea,” Joe gripes, like Louis’ being some sort of unreasonable popstar and not someone who’s just poorly and looking for some comfort.

“Okay,” Liam says and waits outside Louis’ door, sliding down onto the floor and circling his arms around his knees.

Half an hour later, Joe’s back with a bag from the shops, which he drops at Liam’s feet, and he storms off after a very stern warning against Liam falling ill.

Liam lets himself back into Louis’ room and sets the electric kettle going as quietly as he can. Louis’ snoring lightly from where he’s buried completely under his duvet now. Poor thing.

When the kettle is ready, he debates waking Louis up. It’s a real conundrum – let him sleep while he can or wake him and get him the comfort he’s asked for. Louis decides for him though, when the kettle makes a bit of noise and Louis stirs.

“What’s that?” he croaks.

“Yorkshire, as requested.” He turns carefully and with a flourish shows Louis the mug. He’s prepared it just how Louis likes it.

“You got me tea?” he says, narrowing his eyes up at Liam, almost like he’s dumbfounded.

“You asked for it?” Liam answers and shuffles towards him. “Up up.” He waits for Louis to scooch up some before handing him the mug so he doesn’t spill all down his chest.

Louis’ eyes drift shut in satisfaction as he takes little sips of the tea, and a pleased noise rumbles up through his chest. Liam settles lightly on the edge of the bed and lightly runs his fingers soothingly up and down Louis’ back. He tries to play it cool when Louis leans into Liam, seeming to relish the touch.

“You should get back to your room,” Louis says, which honestly kind of ruins the moment.

“Why?” Liam’s stomach drops. He wracks through his brain, struggling to think what he could have possibly done wrong that would cause Louis to send him away.

“All five of your fans will murder me if I give you my disease,” Louis grumbles, but makes no effort to move away from Liam.

“Hey, you leave Sarah, Liz, Alexandra, Megan, and my mum out of this,” Liam pretends to censure him, pointing his finger in accusation. He’s hoping for another smile.

Louis starts to huff with laughter, but that all lasts about three seconds at most because Louis devolves into a series of hacking coughs. Liam takes his mug swiftly, handing him a tissue to hack into. He resumes rubbing his back softly until the coughing subsides and passes him his mug again.

Louis drains the mug with a few more grateful sips before he presses it back into Liam’s hands and flumps back down onto the bed.

“I hate everything,” he moans.

“Surely not everything,” Liam counters.

Louis narrows his eyes at him and considers him for a few long moments. “Maybe not everything.”

That’s the spirit, Liam almost tells him.

Louis flips on the television and they quietly watch a couple of episodes of  _Skins_ together, not chatting or doing anything. Just existing together. It’s nice, although Liam thinks he prefers Loud Louis to Tame Louis, if he’s going to be honest.

“You should go to sleep,” Liam decides after Louis’ nodded off for the third time. He moves to curl into the small chair by the window. It’s comfortable enough and it’s getting far too late and they need to be well rested if they’re expected to perform tomorrow.

“My sheets are disgusting,” Louis says, which almost sounds like an apology. He settles into his duvet and pulls it right back up to his chin.

“I’m okay,” Liam promises. He’s not cold or anything anyway.

“Don’t sleep here.”

“I won’t.”

Liam does and he’s glad to be there when Louis wakes every few hours, coughing and hacking and wheezing until he calms down enough to breathe a little steadier. He’s ready with tissues and water and a cool flannel against his forehead. He hopes it helps. Louis’ too out of it to say much of anything.

Every time it seems like Louis’ back down for the count, Liam crawls back into the chair and tries to catch some sleep.

Liam’s awoken pretty early by a sock to the face. He hopes it isn’t used. There’s a terrible crick in his neck from how awkwardly he slept on the chair, but it’s worth it. He tosses the sock back at Louis, but by design it doesn’t hit his face, just lands in his lap. Louis’ poorly. He can give him a break today.

“Hey,” Louis says. He already sounds a bit more like himself, if not still sleepy.

“Hey,” Liam echoes, rising to his feet to feel out Louis’ temperature. “Feeling better?”

“Miles better. But I need a shower pretty desperately.”

“Okay,” Liam responds. He’s never helped someone take a shower before, but there’s a first time for everything.

“Alone, if you please.”

“Ah, right.” So that’s a bullet dodged. “I’ll just…” He trails off, pointing at the door.

Louis’ eyebrows raise impatiently, like they always do with Liam, but then he pairs it with a light smile. Like he’s amused at Liam instead of irritated by him. It’s a refreshing change.

Liam waves at him instead of using his words like a normal human because he panics. Louis makes a face and sarcastically waves back at him. Liam’s face drops as soon as he turns for the door and silently censures himself.

“Thank you, Liam,” Louis says.

Liam expects him to be half-asleep, dazed and unaware of the treasonous words that pass his lips. But when he looks back at Louis, he’s sitting upright, eyes bright and focused in a way he hasn’t seen in days.

Liam’s heart thumps faster at the news that he’s done well enough for Louis’ approval. He could get used to this.

“You’re welcome, Louis.”

–-


	14. lilo: x-factor spat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "things i wish you hadn't said"

The first time Louis sees Liam cry it leaves a sour taste in his mouth for days.

They’d gone at it, worse than they ever had before, so bad that the other three left the room – left the entire floor really – with their heads ducked, trying to make as little noise as possible. But Louis could see them, of course he could fucking see them.

They trade the usual barbs.  

_You’re not taking this seriously enough._

_Well, you’re making us all bloody miserable._

_Nobody makes it in the Music Business by having “loads of fun.” It takes talent. And hard work. Blah blah blah._

And then Louis says it. He can’t bring himself to repeat the words, not even to himself.

He knows he shouldn’t have said it, but he can’t take it back. He can’t even apologize because Liam stood there, silent and still like the fucking emotionless robot he is, and it made Louis angrier.

All Louis wants is to see him crack. To push him out of his comfort zone, to get him to react and not just stand there with his arms crossed and blandly insist that Louis take it fucking seriously for the seventeen thousandth time in the last however many months. And even as he says the worst words to pass through his lips, the ones specifically designed to hit Liam where it hurt the most, Liam does nothing. He feels _nothing_.

They call off the rest of rehearsal, which Louis supposes means he won, and they all get trucked back to the hotel to spend the night in two different rooms, Harry following Louis and Zayn following Liam and Niall wandering back and forth between the two of them like a lost puppy.

Niall’s showering in Louis’ even though it’s Niall turn in the rota for the single room (he never actually takes the single room, but he respects the rota above all else). Harry steadily works at chewing off his entire left pinky as he watches trash on the television. Louis gets restless, goes for a wee just because he’s bored.

He lets himself into Niall’s room and opens the door to the bathroom and sees Liam on the other side. He would have apologized to anyone else, but the door isn’t locked and it’s Niall’s room and it’s fucking  _Liam_. So he just sighs deeply at the inconvenience, this long suffering thing that he’s spent years perfecting, until he realizes what Liam’s doing.

“ _Knock_ ,” Liam shouts hysterically when he sees Louis’ there, turning his head and shaking his hair down over his eyes, but the damage is done. Louis has seen his tear-stained face with the wide and terrified eyes, has watched him try not to hiccup.

Louis doesn’t really know what to do, so he does nothing. He’s not entirely sure he’s ever been literally paralyzed by something, and he’d never imagined it’d be Liam Payne crying over the bathroom sink that’d be the thing to do it.

Liam shoulders past Louis when he seems to realize Louis isn’t planning on moving or doing anything but breathing and staring dumbly in his direction. He feels a little jolted by the door snicking shut, but he doesn’t move.

 _I can’t have done that_ , he thinks.  _He’s not crying about me. Maybe his dog died. Or his voice cracked. Or his straightener broke._  But they’re hollow thoughts because Louis is certain, without a doubt, that he’s the one who’s made Liam Payne cry.

He’s finally broken Liam, then. It’s a victory, but it sure as shit doesn’t feel like one.

The next morning Liam is gone before any of them, home for the day, announces it by sending a text message to Harry promising to be back before rehearsals the following day.

He sits on the couch all day until a couple of the lads come down from Donny to take him out for drinks. He doesn’t know how to tell them he isn’t in the mood, so he goes to whatever shit bar they’ve googled on their phone.

“Where is he, I was hoping to meet him,” Jeff says and Louis crooks an eyebrow at him until he realizes they’re talking about Liam. It’s just as well, because he’s been thinking about Liam.

“Gone home,” he answers and they keep up the banter, echoing the tales Louis’ been texting them since he got put in the band.

“I thought maybe we’d be treated to one of his disapproving glares. Perhaps a lecture or two.”

 _I made him cry last night_ , he doesn’t tell them.

“Do you think we would be able to surgically remove his lips from Simon Cowell’s arse?” Colin laughs. “Or do you think he wouldn’t survive? What’s that thing from science?”

“What thing from science?” Jeff asks.

_We were fighting over nothing and I took it too far and I made him cry. It used to feel good, but this doesn’t feel good._

“You know where there’s like a parasite and its attached to an animal like, and if you take it off the animal, it dies.”

“That’s a parasite.”

“No but like what’s it called like when that happens.”

_It wouldn’t be a problem if he would just loosen the fuck up. If he weren’t trying to get the best from me. There is no best from me, this is all I’ve got. If I slow down, even for a minute, they’ll see me for what I am. And then it’ll all be over._

“It’s a fuckin’ parasite, mate, I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Whatever, like, Payne’s the parasite and if you pull him from Simon’s arse he’ll die.”

“We’d be doing him a favor then, wouldn’t we.”

Louis’ hand slaps down on the table and he’s hissing, “That’s enough,” before he realizes what he’s done.

They blink dumbly back at him.

“Liam’s trying his best,” Louis grits out. “He just wants us to succeed. He’s already lost twice before and it fucking hurts. I know it does and I’ve only lost once. He doesn’t want any of us to go through that again, not when we could have a chance at a career. It’s not just him he’s looking out for, it’s all of us. He believes in us. And we need him. He’s more useful than any of the other four of us, let alone the two of you.“

They drop their eyes, Colin pulling at the edge of his beer mat and Jeff scratching away at the wooden table. Louis wants them to feel shame because he feels shame.

“He’s the only reason we’ve made it this far. He’s the only reason we made third,“ he says. “So just fuck off about Liam, okay?”

“Sorry, Louis, I didn’t – ” Colin starts.

“No, you didn’t,” Louis finishes.

“You were just telling us last week how much of a massive twat he was,” Jeff mumbles.

Louis shrugs because he can’t actually force himself to admit he was wrong. It is what it is at this point, and they’ll just need to roll with it.

His outburst put a bit of a damper on the mood, effectively silencing them for the next twenty minutes until Louis dismisses them.

On his way back to the hotel, he texts Harry,  _whats liams number_

The response comes scarily fast:  _You don’t have it????_

He honestly doesn’t need any of their numbers, they live so firmly in each others’ back pockets, from the X Factor and on into the tour. He’s got Harry’s and Niall’s numbers – Zayn loses his phone every three weeks it seems – but he’s never exactly wanted to dial Liam up and have a chat.

 _just hand it over styles_ , Louis demands and he does.

Louis’ finger wavers between texting him and calling him. He doesn’t know what he’d say either way.

_sorry i made u cry, haha !!_

_im such a dick !! oops !!_

_maybe if you pulled that stick out of your arse we could have a real conversation about our feelings ?????????_

Louis rolls his eyes at himself and pockets his phone. They’ll be fine, he decides. Liam will show up tomorrow with a bright smile on his face like nothing’s happened, chipper as hell, what a great day to be a member of One Direction. Because that’s what he does.

But that isn’t what he does.

Liam’s running through vocal warmups by the time the rest of them pile into the rehearsal room. Louis knows enough about his warmup routine to know that he’s been there for at least a solid half an hour.

“Morning, Liam,” Louis cheers, ignoring at least three quirked eyebrows sent his way.

He throws his arm around Liam’s shoulders and he can feel him tense up underneath him. He reaches out to yank Harry in to wrap his other arm around his shoulders for good measure. Then it’s not weird. He’s got two of them. He isn’t trying too hard, he’s just treating Liam like one of the boys.

“Morning,” Liam says, shrugging out from under Louis’ arm pretty soon after. He shuffles away to talk to the vocal coach about one of his eight hundred solos, no doubt.

Once it becomes clear to Louis that Liam wants nothing to do with him today, Louis can’t actually stop himself. He follows Liam around, poking and prodding at him, singing stupid songs at him about tea when he goes to make some. He disrupts rehearsal more than once to comment on the lovely maroon of Liam’s shirt. All in the name of catching his attention. Provoking a reaction.

He gets one.

“Look, I know you hate me, but could you please just stop?” Liam shouts, but he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds desperate, pleading. His tone settles deep within Louis’ stomach.

_I know you hate me I know you hate me I know you hate me._

All movement and noise in the room ceases.

“What do you mean I hate you?” Louis rasps, feeling like his throat is closing up with the shock of it.

Liam throws up his hands. He looks weary. “Please, just. Not today.”

“No, Liam, what do you mean I hate you?” he presses. “I don’t hate you.”

“Yes, you do.” Liam drops his voice like it’s a secret. “It’s fine, you don’t have to lie. I can handle it. I’d rather just. I can make the best of it, but I think I just need a break today. Please.”

Louis scans the room, finds at least seven pairs of wide eyes aimed at him like they’re waiting with bated breath to see if a bomb is going to go off. He resents every single one of them.

“Liam, can I talk to you outside for a moment?” Louis asks as levelly as he can, and turns on his heel, fully expecting Liam to follow him. A PA tries to get in his way, insist they need to get to work, but Louis levels her with one of his firmest glares and she retreats easily.

“What the hell is your problem?” Louis asks as soon as they get into the hallway, even though he’s got a pretty clear idea what the actual problem is. He’s just not willing to admit it’s him.

And then they fall into their usual banter.

_You’re not taking this seriously enough._

_Well, you’re making us all bloody miserable._

_Nobody makes it in the Music Business by having “loads of fun.” It takes talent. And hard work. Blah blah blah._

Louis doesn’t say it this time, but he’s still so tired of running the same circles and never getting anywhere with me.

“You’ve had a problem with me from the start,” Louis says. “And it’s not just because I’m more fun than you.”

“You’re a bully,” Liam says, scrunching up his face like he’s uncomfortable to have said it. It’s… not what Louis was expecting in the slightest.

“I’m not a bully,” Louis snaps. He’s a bit much sometimes, difficult, sure, but he’s never been a bully.

But the way Liam recoils just the slightest when Louis snaps back gives him pause.

Louis knows about the bullies, he’s heard Liam mention them off hand a couple of times. It’s not a big deal or anything, he swears. It wasn’t a big deal, but he took up boxing lessons anyway. It wasn’t a big deal, but it makes Liam desperate for approval. It wasn’t a big deal, but it makes Liam do everything possible to make sure he doesn’t fail.

Louis isn’t a bully. He would never. He’d never make Liam feel less than. He’d never tell Liam he wasn’t good enough and he never has. He’s just trying to get him to lighten up because he needs it.

“I’m not a bully,” Louis says instead. “You can’t say that, just because I’ve got something to say that’s different from what you say.”

“I don’t care what you say. It’s the way you treat me. You don’t have to like me, but you could show me the same courtesy you show the other boys. You could treat me with the same respect you treat them.”

Louis makes a face. “I do respect you.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Liam retorts.

“What am I supposed to do, fall down at your feet? You know how fucking good I think you are. You know how much we need you. I guess I can tell you that every day, but I shouldn’t have to. You know what I think about all of it, so what I  _don’t_ get is why you can’t fucking relax for seven seconds.”

“It’s easy for you because you don’t care if we succeed,” Liam says. “But this is all I’ve ever wanted. And this is the only chance I’ll get. If we’re not all on the same page, this isn’t going to work and it’ll have all been for nothing. I need this. I need you to need this as much as I do.”

Louis does care, he always has. He knows he’s pretended that it doesn’t matter because he thought that it would make it easier on him when he eventually failed, because he always knew he was going to fail. He was wrong though. He was absolutely gutted when they lost, couldn’t have survived without the others, all four of them. It hurt him so bad because it mattered the most.

He’s always wanted this, but he’s also always known he’s expendable. Of the five of them, he’s the most expendable. Louis knows what roles they all have to play. He’s the loud and funny one, the  _personality_ in a sea of dreamy heartthrobs with silky voices. He knows where he stands.

They could get signed like they’re rumored to, and they could just as easily drop him. There’s no real difference between a band of five and a band of four and eventually their fans would all forget Louis was around to begin with.

“I do need it. Desperately. But. This is what I do,” Louis explains. “I have to bring something to the band, Liam, and we all know it’s not my voice.”

“That’s not true,” Liam starts to argue, but Louis waves him off.

“This is what I do. I can’t turn it off because then you won’t need me,” Louis says. “And of course I respect you. You’re Daddy Direction.”

Liam rolls his eyes at that one, like he normally does.

“It’s not like that. It’s like. It’s more than just telling us what to do. You take care of us. But you can’t do all of it.”

Liam raises his eyebrows and Louis thinks for a moment he’s going to say he can do it all. Liam is the type.

“Every single one of us is terrified. We don’t know what the fuck we’re doing out there. We’re not pop stars,” Louis says. “We’re just normal blokes. And we have to remember that. We’ve got to have fun. We’ve got to be us. Otherwise… I mean, what’s the point? What’s the point if we don’t get to be us?”

“It can’t just be fun. It’s the Music Business,” Liam says. He always says Music Business like he thinks it has capital letters.

“I know that. I know. What’s the point if we’re just cogs in the Music Business machine instead? You’re all just kids. I am, of course, an adult, but you’re kids. You know?” Louis says because he’s not sure how else to put it. He feels just as protective over them as he knows Liam must. He wants what’s best for them too. They’re just going about it in different ways.

“I think I do,” Liam says slowly.

“We’ve made it,” Louis says. “And we’ll keep making it. I know we will. We’ve already got the best job in the world. Why not enjoy it?”

“Yeah.” His eyes sort of go glassy the way they do when he’s trying to figure something out. Louis gives him about a minute to work on it, tops, before he looks up with the kind of determination that means he’s figured it out and he’s going to be the best at it.

“Yeah,” Louis says when Liam looks like he’s figured it out because he doesn’t know where to go from there.

“You’re right. We need you too,” Liam says. “Not just for jokes. You take care of us too.”

“Yeah, you’d all be lost without me,” Louis laughs, but he really does hope it’s true. He can’t tell, not when Liam says literally everything with the big earnest eyes, even when he’s lying.

“I’ll… do better,” Louis promises with hesitance.

“Me too,” Liam says with a slow nod.

They look at each other, neither daring to move from this place of peace. For the first time in their lives, they understand each other.

–


	15. lilo: neighbors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: things you said that i wasn't meant to hear

“What do you think?” Louis says.

Liam’s got his hamper in one hand and the cracked open door in the other, but something about Louis’ tone makes him pause. He’s just got off the lift, it looks like, and he makes his way down the hall to his flat with a phone pressed to his ear. Louis generally doesn’t make an effort to be mindful of his volume, and tonight appears to be no different.

“Well, it’s Saturday,” Louis continues, “you know he never has plans on Saturday. I know it’s on Thursday, but if we do it Thursday, then he’d  _expect_  it on Thursday, wouldn’t he. Not much of a surprise.”

Liam doesn’t want to appear like he’s eavesdropping, so he eases the door slowly forwards so it looks like it’s shut. It doesn’t matter much because in the next second Louis’ made it through into the safety of his own flat.

He’s nosy, he’s always been a bit nosy – not in the aggressive way Louis is, but in a softer way, a  _I’m going to think about this all day but never ask you what you were talking about_  kind of way.

It doesn’t hit him until he’s putting his second load in the washer that his birthday is on Thursday. Then all of the pieces sort of fall together, clicking easily into place like when you’re this close to finishing a jigsaw puzzle. Liam’s birthday is on Thursday, but if they throw him a surprise party on Thursday, he’d expect it, so they should do it Saturday instead. Because of the element of surprise and all.

He pauses. He’s not entirely sure why he’s so convinced Louis’ throwing him a surprise birthday party. He’s literally never done anything of the sort in the two years they’ve been neighbors-slash-friends. Friendly neighbors.

He tries to put it in the back of his mind, not get his hopes up. He hasn’t had a birthday party in about ten years, let alone never been thrown a surprise one. He’s just not the kind of person people do that for, and he’s okay with it. He chuckles to himself. Surprise birthday party. It’s a bit selfish, and he’s embarrassed to admit he even entertained the thought.

–-

Liam has a nice birthday at work. They get him cupcakes and a card and they all sing Happy Birthday quickly so they can get at the cupcakes and get back to work. He doesn’t take offense to it, they all do it to each other. Go through the motions, get the treat. Liam’s just happy for the treat. And the card’s pretty nice.

He’s about to take the lift up to his flat when he can hear Louis shouting, “Hold it!”

Liam smashes the open button just in time and Louis slides in just in time.

“Happy birthday, Liam,” Louis says, shifting his bag on his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

“Have a good one?”

“I got a cupcake and a card at work.”

“That’s delightful,” Louis says even though his tone suggests he doesn’t think that at all. “Listen, you doing anything on Saturday?”

Liam tries to fight his smile as thoughts of the surprise party percolate in his brain again. He could be right.

“I haven’t got any plans at all,” Liam says. “None, in fact. All day. I’m completely wide open. For anything.”

Louis just stares at him. “All right.”

Liam smiles back, innocent as he can manage.

“I was going to hit a matinee of the new  _Jurassic Park_  if you wanted to come with.”

“I’d love to, thank you very much, that’s very kind of you.”

“All right, calm down,” Louis grouses, “it’s just a film, not a trip to Buckingham Palace.”

Liam just shrugs at him.

–-

Saturday is a great day. Louis buys him a popcorn, the movie’s brilliant, they argue about the true effectiveness of dinosaur soldiers, and Liam all but forgets about the party until they’re about to part ways for the night.

“Well. Good night, Liam,” Louis says, throwing a wave over his shoulder.

“Um,” he answers.

Louis quirks his eyebrows up. “Yeah?”

“Is that – I mean – well,” Liam stumbles because he can’t exactly say  _but what about the surprise party_. “Good night, I suppose.”

Louis grunts and disappears into his flat.

There’s no one waiting for Liam in his.

He feels a bit stupid for feeling disappointed, for getting his hopes up about something that was ridiculous

His stomach is twisting in knots of embarrassment so he forgoes dinner in favor of a shower.

Liam pads back into his room after, perfectly content to spend the rest of the night sitting in bed in his towel while surfing the internet on his phone until the towel gets uncomfortable and he finally switches into his pajamas. When he picks up his phone, he sees he’s got a text from Louis.

_did i leave my hoodie at yours ???_

Liam doesn’t remember seeing anything, but he goes for a look anyway. Sure enough, Louis’ hoodie has been tossed on Liam’s kitchen table. It’s the one Liam remembers him holding in his hands that afternoon when he came by, but now that he thinks of it, Louis didn’t have it with him at the movies.

 _yeahhh_ , he responds.

 _bring it over, there’s a lad_  is followed by  _now if you could, im headed out_.

So that must be his secret Saturday night surprise. Liam sighs, wavers back and forth between whether he should go throw on a pair of trackies or not. But it’s Louis and he’s probably already running late and it’s five seconds tops.

He sprints across the hall to Louis’ door and gives a couple of quick knocks. He’s about to just hang the hoodie on the doorknob and ditch, but Louis shouts, “It’s open!”

Liam opens the door, but it’s pitch black in.

“Hullo?” Liam asks just before all of the lights flip on and about a hundred people appear out of nowhere to shout, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” at him.

“Um,” Liam says as his hand drifts subconsciously to hold onto his towel. It’s almost every person he knows in one room and he’s overwhelmed. He doesn’t know where to look first. At the streamers, at the happy birthday sign, at the table full of cupcakes, at Louis. He picks Louis.

“Are you fucking naked?” Louis shrieks with delight before he doubles over with laughter.

“Um,” Liam says again and that’s when people start swarming in to wish him a happy birthday.

“You should have seen your fuckin’ face!” Niall crows.

“You can, I put it on Vine,” Harry says and turns his phone around to show Liam an infinite loop of towel clad Liam and the  _Hullo? HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Um. Are you fucking naked?_

He watches it far more times than is really necessary before he realizes he’s been thrown a surprise birthday party. And Louis, the cheeky shit, is the architect of the whole thing.

He finds Louis watching him from where he’s leaned against the fridge, a drink in his hand. They grin stupidly at each other.

“Thank you for this,” Liam says as he approaches.

“You absolute tit, you figured me out,” Louis says, diving to twist one of Liam’s exposed nipples, but Liam ducks out of the way in time. “I had to change all of my plans.”

“Sorry,” Liam apologizes, but he isn’t. Not about ruining the plan. But a little about not putting some clothes on.

–-


	16. zouis: world war ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: things you said when you were scared

Louis never was much of a deep sleeper, but even if he were, the air raid sirens would still cause him to jolt awake faster than even his sister’s screams. He grabs the bag he keeps under his bed for these nights and hops out of bed. The girls are awake in their bed next to him, already half on their way to tears.

“Come on, ladies,” he says as calmly as he can manage, taking each of them by the hand until they slide out from underneath their sheets. He laces up their shoes before putting on his own, forgoing tying his own laces.

His mum’s shouting for them, so he bustles them downstairs, trying to keep a cheery face about it all while his heart pounds and his mind races and he wonders if today is the day their luck runs out.

“Louis, tie your shoelaces, please,” his mum says in the same weary tone she usually tells him with. But she’s not really paying attention, so he doesn’t. They’re in a hurry.

They’re seven blocks from the nearest shelter. They’re some of the lucky ones and they don’t forget it.

They shuffle through the families already laying out sheets and claiming their spots. There don’t seem to be any fights tonight, which is a small relief. There are good bits of the tunnel and bad bits of the tunnel and sometimes they’re there all night. And stress does bad things to good people.

Louis’ family always works its way back to the bad bits with the cracking concrete where the water leaks. Louis scans the tunnel until he has eyes on each of his friends, to make sure they’ve made it safely. Fizz bursts into tears, though, so Louis tears his eyes from the crowd to kneel down in front of her.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asks quietly.

“I left Peter at home,” she says between hiccups.

“He’ll be waiting for us when we get back,” he says.

“What if he isn’t?” she whispers, her eyes wide. He hates that she knows what they’re doing down here, what it means for the world above that they’re hiding below.

Louis straightens, listening for any tell tale signs of trouble outside, but with the buzzing echo of soft voices in a confined space, it’s hard to hear anything.

“He’s alone,” she says.

“Shall I get him then?” Louis asks, propping his hands on his hips. “Think I will. I’ll be back before you can blink. Don’t tell mum or dad, okay?”

She nods and more tears spill from her eyes. He really can’t stand it. He hands her his bag and makes her promise to keep a real close eye on it.

He slips out of the tunnel and into the street, unnoticed as he’s practiced to be. He’s never been one for being told he can’t go places. He wants the whole world to be open to him, and there’s nothing a bit of sneaking and his lucky hair pin can’t get him into. Or out of.

The roads are eerily still, deserted in a way they’re not meant to be. He isn’t sure if he can hear the sounds of bombs exploding, or if it’s just his mind telling him he should hear them. It’s hard to hear much of anything over all of the sirens.

His front door is already open, but he doesn’t really remember whether anyone had closed it. He doesn’t think anything of it as he passes through until he hears a pot dropping in the kitchen.

There’s a kid in his kitchen, no older than Louis, with dark hair and a darker look on his face, something approaching a grim determination staining his features. He’s got dirty clothes and a slight frame and Louis knows exactly what he is.

He’s also robbing Louis’ house.

“What are you doing?” Louis asks even though it’s clear.

The kid takes an immediate defensive stance like Louis’ going to come at him for trying to shove a loaf of bread into his sack.

“The sirens are going off, you should get to the Underground,” Louis says. He can see the kid’s shoulders lose some of their tension, but he doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t move.

He’s heard about these kids before, the ones who break into houses when no one else is around. The ones desperate enough for food that they’ll risk the bombs to get it.

“Have you got somewhere to go?”

The kid shakes his head. The sirens are still blaring like they’re meant to remind Louis what he’s supposed to do and where he’s supposed to be.

“Come with me,” Louis says. “There’s a shelter seven blocks down.”

The kid shakes his head again. Louis doesn’t know if it’s pride or fear that keeps him from agreeing. No loaf of bread Louis’ ever met is worth risking his life.

Louis purses his lips. He isn’t one to ask twice. “Suit yourself, kid.”

He turns his back on the kid, runs up the stairs, and retrieves Peter, the raggedy stuffed rabbit that’s been in their family since Louis was a kid. He’s not willing to admit he’d have been heartbroken if they’d lost Peter as well.

Louis doesn’t check to see if the kid is still in his kitchen. He tries not to worry about him finding a place to hide instead of coming down to the shelter to hide. He tries not to wonder if the kid is worried about being accounted for when the soldiers take attendance.

He tries not to think of any of that. He just takes off at a flat run down the street to get back the shelters before they close the door.

His left foot stomps down on one of his laces, sending him flying for the pavement. He skids along, his hands bearing the brunt of the fall and prickling with pain until his head follows his momentum and his head connects with the street. He can’t tell which way is up, his head spins so bad. He blinks forcefully, trying to flip the world right side up, but nothing’s working.

Strong hands haul him up off the ground, maybe into the air, maybe onto his feet. He’s got panicked brown eyes staring into his own as the fog in his brain slowly starts to clear.

“I fell,” Louis says dumbly. The kid nods back at him, quirking his eyebrows up to say the I noticed his lips don’t say.

A sudden rumbling sound causes the kid’s fingers to grip Louis’ arms tighter.Louis isn’t sure if the ground shakes beneath his feet or he’s still thrown from knocking his head. It sounds more like canon fire than anything else, but Louis’ not stupid. He knows it’s the planes. And he knows what they drop.

“Go go go _go go go_ ,” the kid hisses, nearly pleading.

Louis is somewhat stunned to finally hear his voice, but he doesn’t get long to linger on it. Louis stumbles forward, holding his skinned hands ahead of him, as the kid marches him down the street back toward the shelter. The fear clears his head quickly.

They slip in the same way Louis slipped out, mostly unnoticed whether by their own design or the soldiers not caring enough about where they’ve been to question them.

Louis puts a hand to his back to guide him through the crowd back towards his family. Well, mostly to make sure he doesn’t leave Louis’ side. But also to guide him. The kid’s got Peter in his hands and he holds it carefully in his hands like he knows it’s important. Well, he has to know it’s important. Louis risked his life for it and almost left it in the street anyway.

His mum is sobbing, which means Fizz must have told. His dad looks troubled but strong-willed, talking gently to one of their neighbors.

“Louis, oh god, Louis,” she shouts when he approaches and she grabs him up into a hug. “Oh, I thought I’d lost you. Whatever possessed you to leave? That was very wrong of you, oh Louis.”

She squeezes at him until he’s able to remove himself gently from her arms. She moves next to inspect his throbbing temple and he smarts back at her touch.

“Mum, this is,” Louis starts, peering back at the kid.

“Zayn,” he says and offers Peter to the girls. “Is this yours?”

Fizz snatches the rabbit and clutches it to her chest, stroking its long ears like she does when she’s upset. She looks like she’s at some manner of peace at Peter’s appearance, though, so Louis calls the venture worth it. Even if he does take a licking from his mum so loud it echoes through the entire tunnel.

Zayn stands beside him, looking a cross between amused and lost. But he doesn’t leave Louis’ side.

Louis makes him settle next to him on the cold concrete ground as they wait for the all clear. Zayn tugs the sack open and pulls out the loaf of bread.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“Sure,” Louis says, even though he isn’t. He can never eat when they’re down there, but he takes a piece anyway, watches Zayn distribute other pieces of it to Louis’ family. Nobody asks why he’s got it in the first place.

And they wait.

–-


	17. lilo: x-factor hide and seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: things you said with no space between us

Liam’s got his face buried in this week’s sheet music when his phone buzzes with a text. It’s Louis, so he ignores it. Until he gets another. And another.

_liam come to the living room_

_liam i need you_

_it’s an emergency liam come here_

Emergency is what gets Liam off the bed, because they’ve just had an emergency, what with Louis and the sea urchin, and he really doesn’t think he can take another one.

Nobody’s in the living room is the thing, when he finally gets there.

“Louis?” he calls and he swears he hears someone shushing him. He keeps padding along, looking for any trace of a person, but not that hard. He’s beginning to suspect this is all some sort of cruel prank. Louis would be the type. “Louis?”

The closet door swings open, nearly whacking Liam, and a hand shoots out. Liam is yanked by the collar into the closet, and the door is shut swiftly but quietly behind him. He stumbles back into the mess of coats and shoes kept in the closet, but he doesn’t fall over because Louis’ got hold of him, holding Liam flush against him.

Louis shushes him again.

“What’s going on?” Liam asks anyway.

“Hide and seek.” He lets go of Liam and ducks a little to peek through one of the shutters, scanning the living room critically.

“Aren’t you a little old for Hide and Seek?” Liam asks, but Louis shushes him, presses his hand over Liam’s whole face, not just his mouth. Liam doesn’t fight it because when he doesn’t fight back, he’s realized Louis loses interest faster.

He does, moves his hand from Liam’s face as soon as he gets the hint. “Are you going to be no fun at all today? Is that what kind of day we’re having?”

“How is that different from any other day?” Liam says, not bothering to keep his voice at a whisper. “I thought I was no fun at all ever.”

“You’ve got potential, Liam, and you’re squandering it,” Louis whispers back, looking like a disappointed teacher.

Liam sighs, quieter than he wants to. “Who’s It?”

Louis grins. “Harry.”

“Oh great, he’ll just use whatever weird psychic connection the two of you share to find us,” Liam grumbles. “And then we’ll have lost.”

“Have you quite finished?” Louis whispers. Liam can see his eyes are bright even through the dim light that filters through the shutters on the door. “We won’t get caught. You won’t let us get caught, will you, Liam? You don’t want to lose.”

Liam fixes his jaw. He knows he’s being played. There’s a part of him that’s shouting at him,  _you’re being played you twat_. And then there’s an even louder part of him telling him he doesn’t want to lose.

“We’re not going to get caught,” Liam decides.

“That’s right,” Louis approves, gives Liam a little condescending pat to the chest.

They peek through the shutter doors and Liam can just see a curly mop float into view.

“Louuuuuueeeeeeh,” Harry’s voice taunts quietly.

Liam grabs at Louis’ arm and holds his breath. One sound, one tiny exhale, and they could lose it all. His heart starts to pound in his chest, so loud he swears Harry’ll be able to hear his heartbeats. He wishes he find some sort of way to stifle it, but that involves like… dying, probably.

Louis pries his arm from Liam’s grasp and wraps his hand around his back instead, holding him closer than he’s likely ever done before, and inching them back away from the door. Liam’s scared the noise of the movement will betray them, cause the hangers to shift and clank, but Louis’ precision is scarily effective.

They’re completely still, breathing silently into each others’ faces, watching each other and trying not to peek out at the room. Eventually Harry stops calling for them, they can’t hear his footsteps puttering through the room.

Louis makes a signal like he’s going to check the door, but Liam widens his eyes, shakes his head minutely. He can’t it’s too dangerous. Louis nods, insistently, he’s going to do it, nothing Liam tells him is going to stop him. Liam rolls his eyes and jerks his head for the door in invitation. If he wants to get caught, they’ll get caught.

“Coast is clear,” Louis whispers, and Liam lets out the breath he’s been holding for quite some time.

“We should move,” Liam suggests.

“This hiding spot is tried and true.”

“He won’t make the same mistake again,” Liam argues. “And there are more tactical positions to choose.”

“Such as?”

“My room.”

Louis quirks his eyebrows up.

“I mean, you know what I mean,” Liam says, huffing a little. “I’m not playing the game. And Harry knows you wouldn’t volunteer to spend time alone with me.”

He didn’t mean to put it so bluntly, lay it all out there. But. He’s not wrong.

Louis considers this. “You’re far more brilliant than you let on, Payne.”

“I’ve only been telling you that for weeks,” Liam says, smiling a little in spite of himself. It’s about as close to a compliment as he’s going to get.

Louis grabs Liam’s hand, another in a long line of great Louis-related shocks in the last ten minutes. “We move in three, ready? Three. Two – ”

–-

Louis lasts about half a second trying to pull Liam behind him because Liam’s way faster, has to disentangle himself from Louis’ grasp to press both hands to his shoulders and shove him up the stairs, hissing  _go go go go go_.

When Louis reaches the safety of Niall and Liam’s room, he throws himself onto Liam’s bed, rolling over and resting his hands on his chest as it rises and falls and he desperately sucks in breaths.

They don’t even get a few moments to recover when they can hear the sounds of someone else stomping up the stairs, likely tipped off by the fact that they sounded like a herd of elephants frantically ascending a flight of stairs. Not that. Elephants would get on… stairs.

Liam swiftly throws the duvet over Louis and piles a bunch of pillows on top of him, before he throws himself over him too, trying to assume a lounged and relaxed position by the time Harry opens the door. Louis squeaks at the sudden weight of Liam and Liam tries to hide it with some strategic coughing.

“Hey, Liam, have you seen Louis?” he asks, innocent as can be, not at all like he’s asking Liam to help him cheat at Hide and Seek.

“No, not for hours,” Liam says, trying to calm down as much as he can, but his chest still heaves more than he wants it to, just as Louis’ did. It’s not like he’s out of shape or anything, but the stress combined with the activity has really got his blood pumping and his heart thumping. “Is he in trouble?”

“No, was just looking,” Harry mumbles, somewhat put out that he failed.  

“Well, you know he wouldn’t be caught dead in here. With me. Alone.”

Harry shudders. “I don’t want to know what Louis would do to you if he got you in here alone.”

Liam slips a little, his elbow knocking against something firm, and there’s a groan that Liam tries to cover with another cough and a “I’m sorry, what?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry dismisses. He looks suddenly very suspicious. “Why are you breathing so heavy?”

Liam blinks. “Went for a run.”

Harry narrows his eyes, his mouth quirking like he’s about to call Liam’s bluff. “In your jeans?”

Liam hesitates for just a second. “Yep.”

“That doesn’t sound comfortable.”

“It wasn’t,” Liam says. “I think I’m going to take a shower now, goodbye Harry.”

Harry pauses, his eyes critically surveying the room a final time before he’s nodding and backing out. “Well, if you see him, tell him I’m looking for him.”

“Absolutely,” Liam promises and gives him a big smile. It’s entirely possible that he’s laying it on a bit thick, but then Harry leaves. The two of them sit frozen, in silence, seemingly forever.

“Is he gone?” Louis asks, muffled. Liam can sort of feel Louis poking up at him through the thick duvet.

Liam shushes him and shifts a little until Louis squawks again.

“He’s gone?” Louis asks again.

“He could be back at any moment, hush,” Liam says, even though he’s sure Harry really isn’t coming back. But Louis can stay put. Alone. With Liam. Just a little longer.

–-


	18. niam: the real mrs. horan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: fake dating

Liam’s glanced at the dessert bit of the menu more than a few times, he could go for a cheat, just a little slice of cheesecake never hurt anything. But the fact of the matter is he’s only budgeted £20 for dining out the entire month and this restaurant that Niall’s decided to bring him to is going to eat up just over half of that in one go, and it’s only the fourth day of the month. Not that he minds, though. It’s Niall.

Niall knows, though, ‘course he does, nudges Liam with his foot and says, “Which do you prefer?” 

“Ah, none for me, thanks though.” Liam smiles a good smile so Niall knows it’s all good, but Niall knows better, though, ‘course he does.

“C’mon, Liam. It’s the cheesecake, isn’t it. Don’t be shy.”

“Maybe next time,” Liam says. 

“I can get you one of them,” Niall says easily. He rises from the table. “Don’t worry.”

“Niall, don’t, Niall,  _Niall_ ,” he says fruitlessly because Niall seems to have very suddenly and very tragically become deaf in the last thirty seconds. He watches Niall go and twitches until he comes back. He looks around, scoping out the movements of the wait staff just in case Niall’s decided to go steal a slice. 

He’s got his body twisted full around watching their waitress disappear into the kitchen, and when he turns around, Niall’s clutching the table and slowly sinking down onto one knee. 

“Your knee,” Liam says, but Niall waves it off. Liam also lets it go once he realizes what it is Niall’s doing. His mouth goes a little dry too.

“Liam Tiberius Payne,” Niall says, loud enough to start drawing attention.

“We’ve got the same middle name, Niall,” Liam says dumbly.

Niall reaches up and puts a finger to Liam’s lips, which moves his kneeling position a little more awkward, but he makes it work.

“Liam Tiberius Payne,” he starts again. “Do you remember the first words you ever said to me?”

Liam shakes his head. 

“Well. Neither do I, but I’m sure they were great, because that’s what you are. You’re great, Liam. Salt of the fuckin’ earth, you are. And me best friend in the whole wide world.”

“Nah,” Liam says, his face heating up even though he knows Niall’s just laying it on thick for the crowd. People are starting to cotton on.

“I mean it,” Niall says sharply, his voice so low and serious that Liam drops his smile for a moment and mumbles, “Okay.”

“As the poet Beyonce once said, if you like it, well, you should put a ring on it.” He produces from his pocket a little plastic thing with a green alien on it that looks like it’s just come out of a toy vending machine, and he holds it up to Liam.

Liam gamely gasps, throwing a shocked hand to cover his shocked mouth. “Oh! Oh, Niall.”

“Liam, will you marry me?” Niall says, his eyes mooning something fierce.

“Of course!” Liam lets him slide the plastic ring onto his left ring finger. It goes easy past the first knuckle, but then it gets stuck. Niall keeps trying to force it, but the thing isn’t budging, so Liam just pats at his hand until he gets the idea. 

“I’m gonna be Mrs. Horan!” he shouts to the surrounding area of people who are watching them. He proudly shows off his alien ring. They burst into applause and laughter and Liam’s face flushes, clearly pleased.

“Give us a kiss then!” shouts a nan in the back.

“Eh,” Niall hesitates, but Liam reaches for him anyway, yanks him by the shirt collar until their lips meet, a little harder than necessary, but Liam’ll leave that off to the heat of the moment.

Kissing Niall is… not exactly something Liam’s ever done before. He’s also never been proposed to in the middle of a restaurant, in the name of scoring free dessert or otherwise. It’s a night of firsts, really.

And kissing Niall is… well, honestly, something phenomenal. He’s not sure which of them starts to move their lips, push it into something a little more heated than a fake peck to the mouth, but once they get going,  _they get going._ Liam’s hand leaves Niall’s collar to grip the back of his neck and Niall pushes himself closer to Liam, nearly sitting on his lap. That’s gotta be more comfortable for him and Liam welcomes him easily.

They get going and they go and they don’t stop until someone wolf whistles. They pull apart together in surprise, eyes only for each other. Liam thinks he can hear a vague chant of  _kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss_  going on in the background. Or maybe that’s just all happening in his head, his heart and his soul making their passionate plea for more. Liam can’t be sure.

“On the house, congratulations, lads,” their waitress says as she slides a plate of cheesecake in front of Liam.

Liam can’t look at her, Liam can’t even put words together to thank her, because everything,  _everything in his brain_ is Niall, who looks back at him as a smile slowly grows on his face.

–-


	19. zarry: wizard harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "why the hell are you bleeding?"

Harry’s hands are shaking, energy pulsing from them. He has to a make a fist to stop them from destroying something. He can still hear the sound the door made as it slammed shut, echoing forever in his ears like it’s going to be a permanent reminder of what he’s just done.

There’s no going back, he knows this, not after what he said. Or, more accurately, what he hadn’t said. He hadn’t said a damn thing, mostly because he had assumed Zayn wasn’t being serious. He was scared. He never actually thought Zayn was ever going to actually leave.

 _You did this to us, Harry_ , Zayn had said.  _You had a choice and you chose this path._

Reality settles in hard and fast now that Harry’s alone and will continue to be alone for the foreseeable future.

Harry hadn’t done enough, hadn’t said enough, hadn’t loved enough. That’s what Zayn thought. Harry hadn’t loved enough. That wasn’t true, Harry loved so much. He just didn’t know how to put it into words. He put it into every desperate kiss he pressed into Zayn’s skin, every meal they shared on the kitchen floor surrounded by candles, spelled it out in the stars when they’d gazed for prophecies in their backyard.

Harry has always underestimated the power of words, of reassurances, of making sure there is no doubt in Zayn’s mind that he’s it for Harry. That Zayn is all Harry will ever need.

There’s nothing he can say  _now_ , he realizes. But there was something he could have said  _then_.

He runs about their house, collecting what he needs. Concert ticket, scarf, toothbrush, Sharpie.

He collects them all close to his chest and bolts out of the house, rounding the corner to their garden where the cellar doors are. They’re stuck, Harry’s not been here in the better part of a year, not while Zayn’s around. Eventually they pull open and Harry can descend the steps.

He carefully places his treasures on the wooden table in the center of the room, careful to sidestep his summoning circle as he reaches for the biggest, dustiest tome in the place. He thumps it down on the table, ignoring the cloud of dust, and starts to flip through it. It’s dangerous, this section of the book. He’s been told to avoid it if he can. But he can’t.

He reads through the spell three times, carefully committing it to memory before he gets to work.

He takes his silver knife and runs a clean slice down his palm, not deep enough to hurt anything but enough to get the blood to the surface. He drags a thumb through the line of blood and smears out the sigils on the wooden table, then places his offerings in their place.

He grabs a rag and presses down on his cut, careful not to press any healing magic into the wound, because what he’s got ahead of him is going to take about everything he’s got.

He settles his hands in position on the table and breathes power into the items, the sigils. It takes more than just the right ingredients. It takes repentance, reflection.

The concert ticket, a memento of their first date.

The scarf, a present from Harry to Zayn that Harry stole when he started tying his hair back and returned when he stopped.

The toothbrush, a cheap plastic thing Harry put in his bathroom when Zayn first started staying the night, that first little hint of domesticity.

The Sharpie Zayn would use to ink on Harry’s skin, sometimes tattoo ideas, just to see what they’d look like, sometimes Zayn’s name, because he was a possessive fucker.

All he wants is a chance to make it right. He doesn’t want Zayn to change his mind just because Harry wants him to. But he’ll be damned if Zayn doesn’t have all the facts before he makes his decision. He won’t make that mistake again.

This is all that’s left for him. If this doesn’t work, he’s lost Zayn. Zayn’s not coming back. If that’s the fate Harry’s resigned to, then he’ll accept it. But he’s going to go down fighting, like he should have done before Zayn left. Like he was too scared to do.

The world shifts and tilts around him, almost like it’s threatening to spin so Harry gets those twenty minutes back. He feels like energy is leaking from his body alarmingly fast, the desperation of his plea and his spell taking all he’s got. He almost doesn’t make it, nearly collapses on the floor with exertion, but then the tilting stops and the world is right side up, and Harry’s got time. He’s got nothing but time to make it right.

Harry shoots up the stairs, knocking his head a little on the storm door before he pushes his hands up to lift the wood up and over. His brisk pace back into the house winds him, when it normally never would.

He’s so happy to see Zayn standing by the fireplace like he was about half an hour ago, looking about as conflicted and sad as he had then too.

“I love you,” Harry says first, the words puffing out with his deep exhale. “I love you so much it scares me.”

Zayn makes a little face, like he’s not sure he wants to hear that Harry’s scared of him. To his credit, he waits for Harry to explain.

“I don’t… I don’t know how to do this,” Harry says carefully. “I don’t know how to give all of myself to you. But I’ll try. By the moon, I’ll try.”

Harry lays himself bare for Zayn, cracks himself open to there’s nothing left of him that isn’t vulnerable for attack. That’s the only thing he can do for the two of them – he can give Zayn everything he’s got, but he can’t force Zayn to choose him. Zayn can leave again, as easily as he did the first time, and this time Harry won’t try to take it back. He’s done everything he can and should do to do right by Zayn. He’ll accept the consequences.

“Can’t keep doing this if I don’t know you’re in,” Zayn says, just like he had before.

“I’m in,” Harry insists, like he hadn’t before. “I won’t let you forget.”

Zayn looks relieved and he holds his hands out for Harry. Harry goes to him, bound like always to Zayn’s gravitational pull, breathes a sigh of relief into the crook of his neck as they melt together. Harry pulls away to kiss him gently, a hand cupping at his jaw. He fears for a terrifying moment he’s in trouble when Zayn breaks it off before Harry’s ready.

“Why the hell are you bleeding?” Zayn asks, taking Harry’s hand gently in his. Harry’s still got the bloodied rag in his fist, he realizes.

Harry takes a deep breath. He has prepared for this too. “I need to show you something.”

–-


	20. lirry: not getting married today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "I love you. I’m completely and utterly in love with you. Please don’t get married."

He should have rehearsed his speech, to be honest. He should have planned out what he was going to say, make a big gesture maybe. Hire a band or at least get a box of chocolates. Instead, when it comes right down to it, it’s just Harry and his tuxedo and his fidgety hands and his earnest eyes. And he hopes that’s enough.

“I don’t think I can do this. I don’t think,” Harry starts, but stops himself abruptly. He swallows down the lump in his throat that’s threatening to keep him from saying what he needs to say. “I don’t think I can stand beside you out there, I can’t say nothing when they ask for objections. The thing is. I love you. I’m in love with you. Please don’t get married.”

He thinks he’s going to pass out now that the words are out of his mouth, like the confession has been rolling around in his stomach, nauseating him for months, and he’s finally been able to puke it all up. It’s like a weight has been lifted.

That’s. That’s not a very complimentary way to think about love, really. But. That’s what he’s got.

He realizes he’s been waiting for a response for quite some time, so he prompts, “Ehm. Stephen?”

Stephen just blinks at him, looking a little dumbfounded, which Harry can understand. “Harry, I’m getting married,” he says, which… Harry knows.

“I did work that bit into my speech,” Harry says. “I’m stood here in a tuxedo as your best man, I’m pretty sure that’s why we’re all here. But I’d just appreciate it if you… you know. Didn’t. Get married.”

“You can’t just… I have to get married,” Stephen says, his face pinching with discomfort. “You’re my best friend, but. I’m so sorry, Harry, really, but I am getting married.”

“Oh,” Harry says, short and sweet, his face immediately blushing red in spite of himself. “Right. I’ll just. Bugger off then.”

“Harry, I’m sorry,” he tries again.

“Not sorry enough,” Harry grumbles, even though it’s rude. He can’t leave the church quick enough.

He can’t believe they actually got him in a tuxedo for this. He yanks his bowtie undone and pops the first four buttons on his shirt, his chest betrayed by the white shirt underneath.

They’d spent years dancing around each other, flirting, dating other people, coming back to each other. But Harry’d never made his actual move. Harry’d never locked him down. Mostly because he figured Stephen would always be there, he’d always come back for Harry. He figured Stephen was an eventuality, a guarantee.

Harry throws himself onto the bus bench across the street, not really caring if one of them goes to his flat, so long as it’s in the general direction of his flat. He sits down hard enough that he jostles the person sitting next to him. He doubts his apology can be heard from where his head is buried in his hands, hunched over his knees, but he did at the very least give one.

Harry feels so stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. He put himself out there. And he got burned.

“All right, mate,” his seatmate says. “Didn’t get ditched at the altar, did ya?”

“What? No,” Harry sputters, his head jerking up to look at him. He’s met with kind, but not pitying eyes, wide as saucers.

“Why would you think that?”

“Monkey suit, come running out that church over there, she might’ve taken the car, I think, so you’ve got to leg it or hit the bus if you didn’t want to deal with someone driving you home, trying to talk about it.”

Harry blinks at him. That might make sense.

“I was the best man,” Harry says.

“That’s lovely,” the bloke says. He grins at Harry, the sheer force of it nearly knocking Harry off his feet. He’s turned on something happy within him at the drop of the hat, just because Harry’s said something nice. It doesn’t much make sense, how easily this stranger becomes invested.

“I’m in love with the groom.”

“That’s… ah.” He breaks off, turning his smile into something far more sheepish and runs a hand over the back of his neck. “That’s rough, mate.”

“It is rough,” Harry agrees, “thank you.”

Harry thinks they’re going to leave it at that, they’ll just go back to their business. Harry’ll put his head back into his hands and the stranger will go on smiling so hard at other strangers that he’ll threaten to make their whole day.

They don’t leave it at that, though.

“What’s his name, then?” he prompts.

Harry doesn’t want to tell him. “Stephen.”

“PH or V?”

“PH.”

“Oh, no no no,” he clucks with a shake of his head. “You can’t fall in love with a Stephen with a PH.”

Harry squints at him. “And why is that?”

“They’re bad news,” he says like it’s obvious. “They could’ve done with just the V, but they had to get fancy. They hide letters from you, who knows what else they’re hiding, d’you know what I mean?”

“I think I do.” He really does.

“I’m Liam, by the way.”

“No hidden P’s or H’s?”

“Nope. What’s yours?”

“Harry. Just the one H you’re actually expecting.”

They shake hands like gentlemen.

Liam gently prods him for information about Stephen, which Harry thinks might be going too far. It’s too soon, it hurts too much, he thinks. But when his story starts spilling out of him, he finds it doesn’t hurt all that much. Liam’s easy to talk to, empathetic, nods in all the right places.

It doesn’t get to be too much until Liam asks, “What made you tell him you were in love with him?”

Harry startles at the abruptness of the question. “I was going to lose him.”

“What made you think you had him to lose to begin with?”

“I…” Harry starts, but he doesn’t actually know.

He’d never made his move, but neither had Stephen. They’d danced  _around_ each other because neither of them actually wanted to dance  _with_ each other. They had an equal amount of opportunity to fall in love, but they just didn’t. And it wasn’t because the timing wasn’t right or that they were too scared. It’s because they didn’t want to.

Harry had genuinely thought he was going to lose Stephen, he flat out  _panicked_ , when in reality, this was the natural progression. This is where Stephen wanted to go, and by rights, he seemed keen to take Harry along with him. As mates. Best friends.

“I think I owe Stephen an apology,” Harry says slowly.

“Might’ve missed the boat on that one for today,” Liam says. “Church bells are ringing.”

“I’ll tell him at the reception,” Harry says. “I’ll need some time to write my speech. This one’ll be better.”

Liam nods like he approves. Harry didn’t even know he wanted Liam’s approval until he got it. It’s nice, Liam nodding and asking after him.

“Well, in the meantime, Harry with just the one H, can I buy you a coffee?” Liam asks.

It’s too soon, Harry thinks, but then he realizes that’s what he’d said all along about Stephen. It’s too soon. The time will come. Stephen will wait and eventually they’ll have their chance. And he’d never even stood a chance with Stephen, probably didn’t actually want a chance with Stephen. But the more he looks at Liam, the more he realizes he could stand a chance with him. He’d like a chance.

“No,” Harry says, more abruptly than he should, which startles Liam. Liam’s face almost has time to work into a frown before Harry’s explaining himself. “I’m on a cleanse, so you can buy me a juice.”

“I can manage that. Big fan of apple juice as a kid, I was,” he says easily, rising as Harry’s bus slows to a stop in front of them. “I do still want to be quite clear, though, and tell me if it’s too soon, but this is me asking you on a date.”

He’s got his hand reached out from where he stands in front of Harry, wiggling his fingers invitingly. Harry grins and takes it.

–-


	21. lilo: superpowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "stop running from this."

Louis’ hands shake carrying the plate, and he can’t steady them for the life of him. He can feel the energy humming just under his skin he’s been fighting against all day. A spark zips through his arm, out through his fingers and into the microwave. It sparks and puffs up a cloud of smoke before it shutters to its death.

Then the lights shut off. The entire building’s probably lost power this time.

“Fuck,” Louis hisses, slapping uselessly at the microwave as a small line of smoke trails up from the plug. He’s not sure he can blame it on the foil this time. Stan’s gonna kill him.

It’s getting stronger, wilder, lashing out at the most truly inconvenient times. Like when he’s

Being some sort of freakish superhero isn’t as much fun as Louis had imagined it would be. He’d spent hours as a kid, tucked up in bed poring over comics by the light of his torch, picturing all the ways he’d save the world.

Now that he’s got some sort of power in him, he truly finds the whole thing overrated.

The power comes back on as suddenly as it shorted out, and with the lights comes Louis’ least favorite person in the world.

“Fuck,” Louis shouts at the sight of him. Then he groans. He’s not in the mood.

As always, he’s tall and uniformed in something expensive looking and tailored. He looks honestly rather ridiculous standing at attention in the middle of Louis’ kitchen. He looks as serious as he always does for a figment of Louis’ imagination. That’s what he’d thought the bloke was, at first, a figment of his imagination. But he seems as real as the sparks that sometimes fly from Louis’ fingertips. And he’s just as annoying as the sparks that sometimes fly from Louis’ fingertips.

“Louis Tomlinson, I am Commander Liam Payne,” he starts like he always does.

“Yeah, I get it.” Louis waves him off. “Skip the formalities. The answer’s still no.”

“I cannot accept no as your response.”

“Well, the real answer is  _you’re out of your fucking mind, so get the hell out of my kitchen before I call the police_ ,” Louis snaps. “But I was trying to be  _diplomatic_.”

“Your skills are improving,” Payne notes, nearly sounding pleased.

So Louis answers, “Go fuck yourself.”

Payne’s face barely moves. “I see it is a slow improvement.”

Louis flips him off quickly before turning back to the microwave.

“As it stands,” Payne continues, undisturbed, “your invitation to join The Triumvirate – ”

Louis shakes his head, jabbing his fingers at the dead microwave. He’s got to keep busy so Payne can’t see the way his hands shake. “Look, mate, whatever the fuck Triumvirate is, I’m not interested.”

“A Triumvirate is – ”

Louis whips around to glare at him. “I fucking know what a Triumvirate is, I googled it, didn’t I.”

It’s all like ancient Romans and shit. A collection of three rulers. Louis isn’t exactly in a position to rule anything, he can’t even get his mum’s dog to sit upon command.

“This is your destiny,” Payne argues.

Louis sours, his lip curling. Destiny is fucked up, he’s not doing a damn thing just because someone else is telling him to. He’s in control of his own life, and even if he’s making shit choices with it, he’s making his own shit choices. No one’s going to take that from him.

“Destiny is for pre-teens,” he says. “I’m an adult, a proper one. Don’t you have an eleven year old you can go prophesy to save the world?”

“That would be impractical,” Payne states. “You are of the appropriate age and strength of power. You cannot deny you are stronger now than you were last week. Your power will only grow, and if you don’t train with your counselors, you will never learn to control it.”

Louis pauses. That’s a thing.

He’s already destroyed three microwaves this month. He’s dead fucking terrified of touching another person, lest they suffer the same fate of his microwaves. He’d like his hands to stop shaking. But at what fucking cost. Upending his entire life, joining this complete stranger with a stick up his arse at whatever Fortress of Solitude he came from? Fat fucking chance.

He’d get there and make a tit of himself anyway. He doesn’t succeed, he’s not destined for greatness. It’s a fluke, this is. The radioactive spider bit the wrong person, or whatever. Things like this don’t happen to people like Louis.

“I’m not the one you want,” Louis says. “Find somebody else.”

“Stop running from this,” Payne orders firmly, startling Louis a little. It’s the closest he’s been to exhibiting an emotion for weeks. “You are the final member of the Triumvirate. Come with me.”

“You know who I am?” Louis yells. “A scumbag from Doncaster who can’t keep a job at the bloody Toys ‘R Us. I’m not exactly Triumvirate material.”

“I know who you are,” Payne says, his eyes in a thousand yard stare off into the distance as they normally are when he’s spouting some memorized bullshit. “You’re Louis Tomlinson, born with the gift of the elements. You are to join Harry Styles, born with the gift of the mind, and Niall Horan, born with the gift of the soul. You are the final member of the Triumvirate, and it is your destiny to join us.”

Something stirs in the pit of his stomach at his words, like a recognition of the truth. Louis huffs and looks down, trying to appear unconvinced, but he can’t deny how his fingers curled in fists at his sides are starting to glow blue.

“And I know you can do it,” he adds, his voice stilted like he was trying not to say so. Louis looks up to find Payne’s stare directed at him, connecting their eyes with such confidence Louis almost needs to take a step back.

It feels personal, this admission. It doesn’t feel like destiny, like something greater than Louis is making all of his decisions for him. It’s one person believing in another.

“Yeah?” Louis breathes.

“Yes, it is against protocol to deceive a member of the Triumvirate.”

“Oh,” Louis says and fights the impulse to deflate. He turns instead, so Payne can’t see the way his face is threatening to fall, but Payne rests a gentle hand on his shoulder. He follows the tug of Payne’s hand easily, shifting back to face him and finding something more gentle in his features than he’s ever seen.

“I have also observed you for months. I know your heart. I know that you think you need a push to unlock your full potential,” Payne answers. Louis can’t deny his sincerity. “You have searched for your direction for years. You’ve found it, Louis Tomlinson. If you come with me, you can change the world. I won’t rest until you do.”

Louis figures everyone feels it, the desire to change the world. To mean something. To do something important. He’s just never thought he’d be able to. He’d never thought someone would want him to. He could talk a big game – well, think a big game, because you don’t exactly go telling your mates over a pint how much you’d like to change the world one day, do you? You just whinge about work or talk shit about sport.

But now when it comes right down to it, and he’s explicitly being offered the opportunity to do it, to change the fucking world, he’s bricking it.

Payne reaches for one of Louis’ shaking hands and clasps it. Louis can’t ignore the way his hand calms at his touch, the way the vibration under his skin feels at bay within seconds.

“I know you’re scared, but you don’t have to be,” he continues.

“You’ll be with me,” Louis says, not a question, but not an order. He almost hates how he’s entertaining the idea.

“Until the end,” Payne promises. He can’t lie.

Louis nods at him slowly, taking deep measured breaths as he thinks of all the ways he’s about to fuck everything up if he says yes. But god, does he want to say yes.

So he does.

–-


	22. nouis: future canon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "i can't do this anymore"

Louis shows up on his doorstep with a bag in his hand and a grin on his face and a bruise threatening to bloom on his left cheek.

“Oi oi, Nialler,” he says, pushing his way in without an invitation. “Fucking miserable outside, isn’t it.”

Niall glances outside after him before he closes the door. It’s cloudy, maybe a little misty, but that’s standard for this part of Ireland. Not that Louis would have known that before today.

“What are you doing here?” Niall asks, the question coming out a little blunter than he intends. He shuts the door behind them. “Shoes, please,” he says, but Louis’ already toeing off his battered, damp shoes and kicking them in the general direction of the set of cubbies by the door, but not actually in them. Niall bends to put them away.

Louis squints down at him. “Do I need an excuse to come see my favorite Irishman?”

Niall won’t say the yes on the tip of his tongue. “Haven’t seen you in a while, is all,” he says instead. He pads forward into the living room and settles himself back on the couch, unpausing the Derby game and letting it play on mute.

“Lifetime Achievement Awards at the Brits last year, yeah,” Louis answers, his eyes catching on one of the Brits on his mantle by the television.

He doesn’t sit down, just wanders around, poking at the few pieces of Niall’s life on display. He likes the keep them out, the awards and pictures and stuff, just to normalize them. Where people would have family photos (and Niall’s got them too, of course), Niall’s got a framed picture of the lads and him with Ronnie Wood. Where people might have pieces of art, Niall’s got a massive surfboard-shaped award.

These are just parts of his life, mementos of the things he’s done and the places he’s been. No different than anyone else’s house, he tries to tell himself. His are a bit more sensational than most people’s, granted, but. He doesn’t like to think of it that way.

“Always love when they resurrect bullshit awards for us because we can’t get a proper one,” Louis adds.

Niall remembers the show pretty clearly. He remembers Louis was vicious that night, half a year shy of their ten year anniversary. Zayn hadn’t shown. Niall had nearly taken a flight to LA to convince Harry to come. Only Liam seemed pleased to be there. Business as usual, really, Niall should have expected.

“ _Better pack it in then, lads_ ,” Louis had toasted, something ugly coloring his tone, “ _there’s nothing left for us now that we’ve made our lifetime’s greatest achievement. Peaking at age 22_.”

They’d knocked back their glasses of champagne and went their separate ways, disappearing off to other corners of the after party to faces who were less familiar than the four of theirs.

“Don’t think of it that way,” Niall says. He doesn’t see the point of seeing anything they’d done as bullshit.

“Isn’t it that way?” Louis asks, pressing one finger to the edge of one of the framed records Niall has on the wall and pushes gently until the frame isn’t level. Niall fights the impulse to fix it. He knows Louis likes to wreck things just to watch people clean up after him.

Niall doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just invites Louis to stay for dinner, both of them casually ignoring Louis’ bag that means he plans to stay a bit longer than that.

Louis wants to eat at the television, where a  _Lethal Weapon_  marathon is playing, but Niall makes him sit at the table like adults because they’re adults now.

“This tablecloth is white,” Louis sniffs, but he eats at the table nonetheless.

“How’s young Tommo?” Niall asks.

“Paps outside the school,” Louis says, poking at a carrot with his fork. “Had to go to court.”

Niall’d heard about that -- not from Louis, but from the telly, which Niall wasn’t exactly happy about. He doesn’t plan to bring it up, doesn’t much care for tension over dinner, and he lets Louis leave it at that, carefully noting that he actually says nothing about the kid. He gets how hard it is to be guarded -- to have to go through life picking and choosing what can be said to whom.

Niall never regrets it. Not a second. Not even in the hardest times. It was a thing he did and a thing he loved, and though it isn’t a thing he does anymore, he still loves it. He’ll be wearing a One Direction shirt when he’s forty, he’d said once. He stands by it. Best job in the world, so on and so forth.

They all loved it, Niall’s confident saying that’s the truth. There’s not a one of them that isn’t grateful, for the fans, the music, the opportunity. But nobody could have prepared them for the worst parts of it. Niall has admittedly not seen the worst of it.

When Harry’s therapist’s files were hacked and released a few years ago, he got in trouble for privately equating being famous to having an incurable degenerative disease. You were defined by it and there’s nothing you could really do once you get it but let it eat away at you on the inside. You could fight it, but it’s always going to be a losing battle.

The backlash was unreal. And only proved what Harry said was true.

They’ve all had their way of dealing with the shit parts of it, is the thing. Harry shuts down. Zayn had just straight up left. Liam’s tried to talk about it, and that blew up in his face. And Louis. Louis just got angry.

Niall’s gotten in a few zingers in his time, but it’s admittedly a bit hard to be tabloid fodder when you’re living in a country estate in Ireland. Even the most intrepid paps can’t be arsed to come find him, so they barely bat an eye anymore when he flies into London for a session. Niall won’t say he’s planned it that way, but.

Besides Niall’s fine. His life is here and this is what he does now. Until he’s done doing this and moves onto something else.

They shit talk about football for the rest of dinner, because football’s safe.

Niall only gets a moment to himself when Louis disappears off to the shower, so he does the first thing he can think of.

“Niall!” Liam cheers when he picks up. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Louis’ here,” Niall says quietly, though he’s sure Louis can’t hear him over the spray of the water.

He probably could have managed some small talk ahead of that, but he’s not really in the mood. And Liam can small talk for hours until it feels like the only thing he can do is talk small.

“Oh, thank god,” he answers, his voice dropping like he was proper worried about him. “How is he then?”

“Fine,” Niall answers, which is close enough to the truth. “What’s happened?”

“Dunno, mate, he sort of dropped off the face of the earth coupla days ago,” Liam says. “Would’ve called the police had he not texted his mum this morning.”

“So you don’t know what he did to his face?”

“No, what’s wrong with his face?”

Niall nearly quips,  _well how much time do ya have_ , but he doesn’t. “Nasty shiner.”

Liam clucks like a mum. “I knew it -- I just kept telling him.” He cuts himself off with a sigh. “Will you send him home?”

Niall grins, a small thing. He doesn’t think he could send Louis anywhere he doesn’t already want to go.

\--

Niall’s got three spare rooms, but more importantly, Louis says, he’s got a king bed in his own room. Niall likes his space when he sleeps -- he shares his time and space just fine when he’s awake. But his bed’s a different thing, a sacred thing, a safe space.

He still lets Louis share anyway, certain he’s going with a limb or two tangled up with his own. So he’s shocked when he wakes up on his side of the bed with all of the space he went to sleep with. He rolls around gently, careful not to shake the bed too much, and peeks over at what little he can see of Louis through the small crack of light peeking through the blackout curtains that aren’t supposed to let any light in.

Louis’ curled up into himself on his side of the bed, like he’s trying to take up as little room as possible. It looks wrong on him, Louis doesn’t do that. Louis expands to fill a room, a stadium, everywhere and everything. That’s the way it’s supposed go, but Niall won’t slide over to him. He won’t brush his soft hair away from his eyes and press a kiss to his forehead and tug at him until he’s curled around Niall where he belongs.

That’s what he’d used to do, but he doesn’t think they do that anymore.

They’ve all gone on to do their own thing, have done for years and years, but they never redefined their boundaries. They didn’t all agree how best to live their lives seeing each other maybe once a year, chatting on the phone only on birthdays and holidays.

They were always going to be different. Niall was always going to be different. He had to learn how to live without them, and sometimes he thinks he may have taken it to the far extreme. Sometimes he wonders if he’s made a mistake isolating himself. But then he thinks about the space he has and how everything as far as he can see belongs to him and only him. He doesn’t have to share or give, he can just exist.

Louis’ awake by the time Niall’s dressed and finished with his morning stretches. He finds Niall poking away an electric kettle, announcing his presence by pressing up against Niall’s back and hooking his chin over his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, he’s just suddenly there.

He was a little in love with Louis sometimes, the way he was maybe a little in love with all of them at one point or another. He put that to bed out of necessity, folded it away inside of him with the rest of the things that are too uncomfortable to deal with.

He’s learned to live without Louis, and now he doesn’t know to live with him again. Not suddenly, without warning and without his permission. Louis too often acts suddenly and without permission. Niall knows his, like he used to know everything about Louis. He figures Louis must have changed over time, but he fears he hasn’t.

It goes on like that for the rest of the week, Louis casually inserting himself in every inch of Niall’s life, welcome or not, except for the bits he deems too boring. He’s mad that Niall walks everywhere -- even madder it seems when Niall sometimes has to ice his knee after.

He sits in the corner of Niall’s afternoon guitar class with the kids at the primary school a few miles down the road. Sometimes he borrows one of Niall’s guitars and tries to follow along. Other times he’s a nuisance.

He teaches the kids how much more fun playing the guitar is with their  _left hand_. Because all the best left handed musicians play the guitar with their  _left hand_ , he tells them all pointedly _,_ flipping the guitar but not the strings. Niall’s pretty sure most of them don’t even know who he is, let alone that he’s left-handed but plays with his right.

He’s just Mr. Niall here, though he prefers just Niall (but not Just Niall). And that’s okay with him. He swears, especially when he gets that itch under his skin. The itch to be something greater than that, to love thousands or millions of people at a time and have them love you right back. He swears Mr. Niall is just fine.

He takes Louis to the pub down the road where they let him sing the Eagles a couple of nights a week, just him and his guitar, and the locals like it well enough. Louis sits in the back, shouting requests that Niall ignores because he doesn't play his own music here. That's not what they want.

Louis complains at Niall when he comes back from the shops with only the healthy stuff to work off that recipe book Brez got him for Christmas, and Niall tells him to come with him next time if his purchases are so unsatisfactory. He’s sure they both wonder if there’ll be a next time.

He’s always running his hands through the front of Niall’s hair like it’ll actually stick up like it used to if he tries hard enough, even though he knows better than most that without product, his hair isn’t doing shit. Niall tries not to think it’s as intimate as it feels.

He’s just there, he’s in everything, filling up all the space everywhere but his bed. Niall wonders what the point is, if Louis’ going to share his bed but not share his space. He doesn’t think it’s a matter of his respecting Niall’s space. If it wasn’t he wouldn’t be in Niall’s bed. He wouldn’t be in Niall’s house. He’d have called before he dropped himself back into Niall’s life. He wouldn’t have dropped himself back into Niall’s life.

\--

He cracks on the fourth day when they’re both standing at Niall’s grill, Louis criticizing the symmetry of his grill marks. Louis’ restless, and when he gets restless, he gets ready to destroy.

Liam’s called him every day asking him to send Louis home, like they’ve got split custody, and Niall's just waved him off for reasons he can't explain.

Niall looks up and sees the bruise on his face is more yellow than purple. It’s been days, and he doesn’t have answers. It’s been days, and he doesn’t see the end of whatever this is, whether he wants an end or not.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Niall says suddenly, surprising both Louis and himself that he did. He’s not going to take it back, though, in the interest of self-preservation.

“Do what?” Louis asks, a frown already making the creases in his forehead deeper.

“What are you doing here, Lou? Not that I don’t appreciate the company, but what are you doing here?”

“I need an excuse to see my favorite Irishman?” he asks, like he’s maybe forgot he said the same thing four days ago. He must have rehearsed it.

“Yeah,” Niall says this time. At the sight of Louis’ jaw going rigid, he turns back to the steaks. “You’ve never been. We don’t talk. You show up on my door with a bag like you’ve an invitation and a bruise on your face that we’re both pretending isn’t there.”

“That? It’s nothing, Nialler,” Louis says, hand flapping it off, but it’s not nothing. If it were years ago and Louis was still Louis and Niall was still Niall, he’d have let it go. He’d have let Tommo be Tommo and call it a day. But it’s not then. It’s now, so Niall doesn’t let it go.

“Don’t,” Niall warns. “Don’t fucking do that.”

Louis stills, his face growing dark as he watches Niall’s face, deciding, most likely, whether to tear Niall down or do as he asks. Niall’s not above recognizing there was a time he could have gotten any of them to do anything in the world for him. It can’t be that way now, his power started crumbling the day he couldn’t get Zayn to stay. But he holds firm nonetheless, silently but relentlessly imploring Louis to tell the truth.

“All right,” Louis says carefully. Niall fights his sigh of relief. “Got into a fight.”

“You got into a fight?” Niall confirms, because the idea is almost laughable. “Like an actual fight?”

“You should see the other guy,” Louis quips before his face falls again. “Not even a scratch on him.”

“What did you get in a fight over?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“What did you get in a fight over?” Niall repeats.

“Was just flapping me big mouth, Nialler, it wasn’t anything.”

“Was it your family?” Niall asks and receives a dismissive noise. “Was it money?”

“Fuck off with that,” Louis snaps. “It was a bar fight, shit happens. It’s not a big deal.”

Niall sours. God he was fucking asking for it, then. Fishing for a fight. Nothing ever changes. Niall wonders, then, if Louis is allowed to grumble about the attention when he goes seeking it, when he wants to be sensational.

“What the hell are you thinking, getting drunk in a bar and picking fights like you’re still a kid?” His voice is sharp like he never lets it get sharp. “You’re not, Louis.”

“I’m bored!” Louis shouts. “I’m fucking  _bored_ , all right? And I shouldn’t be. The life I’ve had -- ” He cuts him, pressing his fingertips to his eyes in frustration.

Niall blinks at him. There are days when he thinks he might be a bit bored too, but there’s nothing in it that’d push him to these sorts of extremes. He doesn’t understand that.

“I was thinking, y’know. Nialler’s always a laugh, I’ll get in with him, see how he does it. He’s always had his shit figured out, but. God, I thought  _my life_  was shit.”

Niall takes a moment to be taken aback before he can school his face into something non-confrontational. It’s not worth getting heated, it’ll only pour gasoline onto the fire, and he’s just not interested when the fire is his and not Louis’. Louis doesn't get to turn this on him.

“My life isn’t shit,” he says, measured.

Louis barks a cruel laugh. “So we’re also pretending that you’re not in the middle of fucking nowhere hiding for the rest of the world, then?”

Niall makes a pinched face. “I’m not hiding.”

“So it’s your intention to live your life like a pensioner fifty years before your time?” Louis asks, his voice like acid. “You’ve always been particularly gifted at living in denial, mate, but when will it end?”

Niall’s hand works into a fist, shaking as he fights to stay calm. This is what you’re supposed to do, let Louis shout himself out until he’s tired of doing it. Like a fussy baby. You don’t encourage that behavior, otherwise he’ll be trained to think it’ll get results.

But the thing is, it’s been over ten years, and Louis’ still using it.

“When’s the last time you wrote a song? Why do you go to the pub and play cover songs? You’re  _Niall fucking Horan_.”

That doesn’t mean shit to Niall. “Yeah? So what?”

“So what? So what,” Louis scoffs. “They don’t get to be right about us is what. They don’t get to say our lives are over because the band’s over is what. They don’t get to retire us to the countryside when they decide we’re no longer relevant is what.”

“They’re not right,” Niall argues, whoever  _they_  are. “These are my terms I’m living on. I’m doing what I want.”

“You’re doing what’s easy,” Louis says, spitting out the word easy like it’s offensive. “I’ve known you for a long time, Niall, but I’ve never known you to be lazy. Shameful, that is.”

Niall walls up because it’s too much. He knows Louis is lashing out because he feels attacked. They’ve all always known the best ways to destroy each other, they’ve always known exactly where to press to hurt each other the most. But Niall doesn’t have to deal with that anymore. He doesn’t have to sit there and take it. Especially when he’s afraid Louis’ right and the truth hurts like a bitch.

“Go home,” Niall says. “You don’t belong here anymore. You can’t come in and fuck up my life just because you’re bored with fucking up your own. So go home. Go home to your family.”

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his lips, but he can’t shove them back in. He doesn’t apologize even as Louis blinks at him, incredulous, speechless, not calculating. He looks sorry, and Niall can't take it, even though Louis should be sorry.

“You’re my family too, even after all this time,” Louis answers quietly. “We don't. We don't want the same things anymore, do we?"

He doesn't wait for Niall to answer. He slips through the sliding door and Niall can hear the front door alarm chime when he walks through it. He didn’t even collect his shit, though in the past they were never much concerned by it -- clothes swapped, shared, left behind, returned eventually. He doesn’t think Louis is coming back for them.

The steaks are trashed, burned through and through and smoking when Niall lifts the lid off the grill.

“Shit,” Niall hisses, chucking his tongs across the yard as hard as he can. He doesn’t even get a satisfying clatter out of them as they tumble on the grass.

He shouldn’t have said any of that, shouldn’t have picked a fight. He’s supposed to be the reasonable one, the safe one, the measured one. He’s supposed to stay out of trouble, not go provoking it. He’s got all these rules, all these roles that he’s put on himself or that others have put on him.

The roles aren’t fair, though, and he doesn’t have to be the cool Irish one anymore. He can say what he wants and do what he wants, and he still regrets it even then. He could have just talked to Louis. He could have just laid both their cards out on the table and worked it through, but instead Niall rose to the bait and overdelivered.

He trashes the steaks and brushes at his grill diligently until he’s sure all of the burned steak has been cleaned away, all the while wondering what he’d say if Louis came back. How he could set the right tone for figuring out who they are as adults and how they can work through anything. After all they’ve been through, there’s no one else who could ever understand Niall like his boys do. He could have done better, should have done it better. And so should Louis.

They don't want the same things anymore. Niall had them and then he lost them. He lost the band and the music and the fans, so he doesn't want them anymore. He's learned how to live with that, and he could have helped Louis do the same. Or he could have helped them both do something better.

The doorbell rings and Niall’s heart flutters in his chest. He races to the door to open it and find Louis on his doorstep without a bag in his hand but with a penitent look on his face.

“May I come in?” he asks. So Niall invites him in.

\--


	23. lirry: canon sick fic (otra ireland)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt was flu-y liam. apparently i can't get enough sickfic

Liam looks like actual death when he shuffles into the Green Room, his hair mussed, his face pale, his nose and eyes red.

“Evening, lads,” he croaks like there’s nothing wrong.

“Christ, Payno, you look like shit,” Louis says, frowning over at him.

“Louis,” Harry censures, even though he was literally thinking the same thing. He crosses to him, presses the back of his hand to Liam’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“I’m fine,” Liam insists, throwing a weak smile to the room. “I’m sorry I missed soundcheck.”

“Tea?” Harry offers, and Liam nods. He’s just got an amazing herbal blend that tastes like the feeling of coming home. Liam’s going to play the  _I’m fine_ game only as long as they’ll let him.

“You feelin’ all right, mate?” Niall prompts. He doesn’t appear to be in the mood to indulge the _I’m fine_  game. He’s been biting at his thumb for a solid half hour waiting to see if Liam would ever show his face.

“Yeah. Just. One second, please,” he says before calmly walking over the bin by the door and emptying the contents of his stomach into it. He coughs a few times, then straightens. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Harry looks over to Louis and Niall, who stare back at him with wide eyes.

“Absolutely not happening,” Niall says immediately.

“Yeah, we’re cancelling,” Louis says, rising to his feet and pulling his phone out to get to business. It’s decided that swiftly, Harry doesn’t even feel the shock of it. Liam is poorly, and they’ve all agreed they can’t do it without him. Sometimes their hive brain is kind of terrifying, but in these instances, it’s quite useful.

Liam’s eyes go wide and his mouth falls into a sad  _o_. “We can’t cancel.”

“C’mere,” Niall says, patting at the free cushion on the sofa next to him. “Look like you’re about to fall over.”

Harry pulls the bag out when it’s finished steeping and carefully brings the tea to Liam, settling gently on the couch next to him. Liam takes a few sips, wincing, Harry’s sure, at his poor throat and not at the taste.

“I can do it,” Liam insists, handing the mug back to Harry.

“Oh yeah? What’s your range look like, Liam? Go ahead and show me your falsetto,” Louis says impatiently, his phone still glued to his ear.

“Louis,” Harry says even though he knows it’s just going to draw Louis’ ire to him. Louis gets tense and snappy when one of them are poorly. It’s the only way he knows how to handle the stress, by brusquely taking care of both them and the situation. They all know it because Liam doesn’t even look censured.

“Isn’t your foot fucking broken?” Louis accuses with a sharp point, the  _like you have room to talk_ going unsaid.

Harry flips him off, which is what he’s supposed to do to show Louis he isn’t actually mad, and turns Liam’s head into his chest. It’s very rare he gets to take care of Liam because Liam’s always so busy taking care of them. He’s not going to say he relishes it, because he’d rather Liam not be poorly, but it’s nice to be needed. Most especially by Liam.

“Nobody’s bloody answering their phones.” Louis looks over at Harry, who makes it very clear he won’t be leaving Liam until Liam’s ready to go see a doctor or go back to the hotel. “Niall?”

“Yeah,” Niall says, getting off the couch.

“Entire fucking band’s falling apart,” Louis grumbles as he opens the door for Niall.

“Yeah, you’re next,” Niall laughs, slapping at his back.

As soon as they’re gone, there’s nothing else in the room then but Liam’s soft, if not haggard, breathing. Harry thinks for a while he’s fallen asleep until he says something.

“We can’t cancel, we don’t cancel,” Liam says, his voice small.

Harry hums soothingly. “Already done, love. Besides. Can’t do it without you.”

“I can at least sit out there. You’ve done the same thing. I can at least be there.”

“No,” Harry says simply.

Liam pouts. “Feels useless.”

“No, Liam, we can’t do it without you,” Harry says. “Literally. The three of us? We can’t cover for you. We’re expendable. None of us do what you do.”

Liam shifts up quickly, looking like he regrets it for a second before he can fix Harry with a stern look. “Harry Styles, absolutely none of us are expendable.”

“It was a joke, Leemo, it’s okay.”

Liam rests his head back on Harry’s chest and grumbles, “Bad joke.”

They’d been four in years past, but never three. It’s too much to be just three now. Four had never felt great in years past, but they made it through. They’re making it through now. But three is unacceptable. Most especially when the one they’re missing is Liam.

“I mean it, though,” Harry says, softly stroking his back until he can feel Liam relax under him. “We’re not Take That or whatever. We won’t do it without you. No more arguments.”

Liam, of course, goes to argue again, so Harry has to resort to desperate measures. Liam’s going to do whatever it takes to be strong and stalwart, to refuse anyone’s help. It’s rude to play dirty, especially to Liam, but his willpower basically extinguishes when it comes to the fans.

“If you don’t rest, you won’t last the week,” Harry says. “Cancel one show now or cancel the rest of them, Liam.”

Liam sighs so hard he starts coughing again. “Harry,” he says like a warning.

“Yes?” Harry starts to say, but then Liam leans right over and spews sick all over Harry’s shoes. Well, Harry thinks. At least it wasn’t all over his lap.

“Oh my god,” Liam says, turning his stricken face up to Harry.

Harry melts, he never stood a chance. “It’s fine.”

“I ruined your shoes.”

“I have three other pairs that are exactly the same.” That’s not the case, these were vintage, artfully tattered by time, not the design. But. Liam doesn’t need to know that.

“Harry, I vommed all over your shoes.”

“Yes, I do remember that. It just happened not two minutes ago,” Harry deadpans. Liam covers his face in shame. “No, it’s okay, honestly. Liam? Honestly. Though. I might just. Take them off.”

He slowly eases Liam off of him and settles him gently onto the sofa to have a lie down while he gingerly removes his shoes and carries them over to the bin by the door. More sick to join the sick.

“Could sell these,” Harry says, throwing his shoes in the bin anyway. “Harry Styles’ shoes with Liam Payne’s vomit. Worth a fortune.”

Liam chuckles softly until it turns into hacking coughs. Harry hates that something as beautiful as Liam’s laugh is ruined by something so disgusting as a cough.

“All right, no more jokes, I promise,” Harry says, crossing the room quickly to curl around him again. He should probably wipe at the sick on the floor, but thankfully most of it ended up on his shoes. Well. Not thankfully.

Liam does fall asleep this time, under Harry’s soothing ministrations, looking like he’s found the peace he deserves. So when Louis comes banging into the room, he threatens to ruin the whole mood of tranquility Harry’s trying to cultivate.

“Oh, that is rank,” Louis says, his nose scrunching up as he goes to cover it with his hands. He peers into the bin and dry heaves a little before scuttling away from it.

“Shh,” Harry says, nodding down at Liam.

Louis’ face softens into his usual Liam face, which probably matches Harry’s and Niall’s Liam faces pretty closely. “Car’s around. Need some help?”

“I’ve got him,” Harry murmurs, shifting lightly. “Hey, Liam? It’s time to go, okay?”

Liam makes a small noise and presses his face harder into Harry’s chest like he doesn’t want to be moved. Harry’s this close to telling Louis just to leave the two of them here on this couch in the vomit-scented Green Room forever (although he could maybe bring them some candles from Harry’s dressing room to cancel out the smell). But. They really do have to get going, and he can take better care of Liam at the hotel.

Harry eventually leads Liam out of the room, his arm around his waist, and walks him in socked feet all the way to the car.

–-

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! feel free to prompt me on tumblr at any time. :D


End file.
